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THE 



Recollec* of a Detective 


BY 

THOMAS WATERS, 


AK INSPECTOB OP THE LONDON DETECTIVE COKPS. 




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CHICAGO : 

ALEX. T. LOYD & CO. 
1887. 


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Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1856, by 


WENTWORTH & COMPANY 




In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 


COPYRIGHT 1887, 
BT 


AILEX. T. LOYD & CC. 


PREFACE. 


The tales included in this volume possess a remarka 
ble degree of literary merit, which renders no apology 
necessary for their appearance before the public at this 
time. The Detective Policeman is in some respects pe- 
culiar to England — one of the developments of the last 
twenty-five years. He differs as much from the informer 
and spy of the continent of Europe as the modern Protec- 
tive Policeman does from the old-fashioned Watchman. 
His occupation is of the most exciting and dangerous char- 
acter, calling into requisition patient endurance and skilful 
diplomacy. In ferreting out the legitimate objects of 
justice, his record is full of “ hair-breadth 'scapes,” which 
lend a strong odor of the romantic to his life. 

We think that the reader, after having perused the fol- 
lowing pages, will unite with us in the remark, that the 
true stories contained therein have never been equalled for 
thrilling interest by any productions of modern f ction. 






*> 


CONTENTS. 


rAot 

THE GAMBLER .6 

GUILTY OR NOT GUILTY. 20 

X, Y, Z 42 

THE WIDOW. . 61 

THE TWINS 82 

THE PURSUIT. 95 

LEGAL xMETAMORP HOSES 109 

THE REVENGE. 127 

MARY KINGSFORD ... 144 

FLINT JACKSON 165 

MODERN SCIENCE OF THIEF TAKING 189 

THE DETECTIVE POLICE PARTY 202 

THREE “DETECTIVE” ANECDOTES 227 

THE MARTYRS OF CHANCERY 238 

LAW AT A LOW PRICE 247 

THE LAW. . .* 261 

THE DUTIES OF WITNESSES AND JURYMEN. . . 266 

BANK NOTE FORGERIES 280 

DOOM OF ENGLISH WILLS. . . . . . 313 

DISA.PPEARANCES 349 

LOA DED DICE. . . ’ • . . . . 361 


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^ o 1 I- 


THE GAMBLER. 

A LITTLE more than a year after the period when adverse 
circumstances — chiefly the result of my own reckless follies — 
compelled me to enter the ranks of the metropolitan police, as 
the sole means left me of procuring food and raiment, the at- 
tention of one of the principal chiefs of the force was attracted 
towards me by the ingenuity and boldness which I was supposed 
to have manifested in hitting upon and unraveling a clue which 
ultimately led to the detection and punishment of the perpetra^ 
tors of an artistically-contrived fraud upon an eminent trades* 
man of the west end of London. The chief sent for me ; and 
after a somewhat lengthened conversation, not only expressed 
approbation of my conduct in the particular matter under dis- 
cussion, but hinted that he might shortly need my services in 
other affairs requiring intelligence and resolution. 

“ I think I have met you before,” he remarked with a meaning 
smile on dismissing me, “ when you occupied a different position 
from your present one ? Do not alarm yourself : I have no 
wish to pry unnecessarily into other men’s secrets. Waters is 
a name common enough in all ranks of society, and I may, you 
know” — here the cold smile deepened in ironical expression— 
“ be mistaken. At all events, the testimony of the gentleman 
whose recommendation obtained you admission to the force — I 


6 


THE GAMBLER. 


have looked into the matter since I heard of your behavior in 
the IS-te business — is a sufficient guarantee that nothing more 
serious than imprudence and folly can be laid to your charge. 
I have neither right nor inclination to inquire further. To- 
morrow, in all probability, I shall send for you.” 

I came to the conclusion, as I walked homewards, that the 
chief’s intimation of having previously met me in a another 
sphere of life was a random and unfounded one, as I had seldom 
visited London in my prosperous days, and still more rarely 
mingled in its society. My wife, however, to whom I of course 
related the substance of the conversation, reminded me that he 
had once been at Doncaster during the races ; and suggested 
that l.e might possibly have seen and noticed me there. This 
was a sufficiently probable explanation of the hint ; but whether 
the correct one or not, I cannot decide, as he never afterwards 
alluded to the subject, and I had not the slightest wish to re- 
new it. 

Three days elapsed before I received the expected summons. 
On waiting on him, I was agreeably startled to find that I was 
to be at once employed on a mission which the most sagacious 
and experienced of detective-officers would have felt honored to 
undertake. 

“ Here is a written description of the persons of this gang of 
blacklegs, swindlers, and forgers,” concluded the commissioner, 
summing up his instructions. “ It will be your object to discover 
their private haunts, and secure legal evidence of their nefarious 
practices. We have been hitherto baffled, principally, I think, 
through the too hasty zeal of the officers employed ; you must 
especially avoid that error. They are practised scoundrels ; and 
it will require considerable patience, as well as acu..;en, to un- 
kennel and bring them to justice One of their more recent 


THE GAMBLER. 


1 


victims is young Mr. Merton, son, by a former marriage, of the 
Dowager Lady Everton.* Her ladyship havS applied to us for 
assistance in extricating him from the toils in which he is meshed. 
You will call on her at five o’clock this afternoon — in plain 
clothes of course — and obtain whatever information on the sub- 
ject she may be able to atford. Remember to communicate 
directly with me ; and any assistance you may require shall be 
promptly rendered.” With these, and a few other minor direc- 
tions, needless to recapitulate, I was dismissed to a task which, 
difiicult and possibly perilous as it might prove, I hailed as a de- 
lightful relief from the wearing monotony and dull routine of 
ordinary duty. 

I hastened home ; and after dressing with great care — ^thc 
best part of my wardrobe had been fortunately saved by Emily 
from the wreck of my fortunes — I proceeded to Lady Everton’s 
mansion. I was immediately marshalled to the drawing-room, 
where I found her ladyship and her daughter — a beautiful, fairy- 
looking girl — awaiting my arrival. Lady Everton appeared 
greatly surprised at my appearance, differing, as I daresay it 
altogether did, from her abstract idea of a policeman, however 
attired or disguised ; and it was not till she had perused the note 
of which I was the bearer, that her haughty and incredulous 
stare became mitigated to a glance of lofty condescendent civility. 

‘‘ Be seated, Mr. Waters,” said her ladyship, waving me to a 
chair. “ This note informs me that you have been selected for 
the duty of endeavoring to extricate my son from the perilous 
entanglements in which he has unhappily involved himself.” 

I was about to reply — for I was silly enough to feel somewhat 
nettled at the noble lady’s haughtiness of manner — that I was 


♦ The twmes mentioned in this narrative are, for obvious reasons, fictitions 


8 


THE GAMBLED. 


engaged in the public service of extirpating a gang of swindlen 
with whom her son had involved himself, and was there to pro 
cure from her ladyship any information she might be possessc'* 
of likely to forward so desirable a result ; but fortunately the 
remembrance of my actual position, spite of my gentleman’s 
attire, flashed vividly upon my mind ; and instead of permitting 
my glib tongue to wag irreverently in the presence of a right 
honorable, I bowed with deferential acquiescence. 

Her ladyship proceeded, and I in substance obtained the fol- 
lowing information : — 

Mr. Charles Merton, during the few months which had elapsed 
since the attainment of his majority, had very literally “ fallen 
amongst thieves.” A passion for gambling seemed to have taken 
entire possession of his being ; and almost every day, as 
well as night, of his haggard and feverish life was passed at play. 
A run of ill-luck, according to his own belief— but in very truth 
a run of downright robbery — had set in against him, and he had 
not only dissipated all the ready money which he had inherited, 
and the large sums which the foolish indulgence of his lady- 
mother had supplied him with, but had involved himself in 
bonds, bills, and other obligations to a frightful amount. The 
principal agent in effecting this ruin was one Sandford — a man 
of fashionable and dashing exterior, and the presiding spirit of 
the knot of desperadoes whom I was commissioned to hunt out. 
Strange to say, Mr. Merton had lue blindest reliance upon this 
man’s honor ; and even now — tricked, despoiled as he had been 
by him and his gang — relied upon his counsel and assistance for 
escape from the desperate position in which he was involved. 
The Everton estates had passed, in default of male issue, to a 
distant relative of the late lord ; so that ruin, absolute and ir- 
remediable, stared both the wretched dupe and his relatives in 


THE GAMBLER. 


9 


the face. Lady Everton’s jointure Tas not a very large one, 
and her son had been permitted to squander sums which should 
have been devoted to the discharge of claims which were now 
pressed harshly against her. 

I listened with the deepest interest to Lady Everton’s narra- 
tive." Repeatedly during the course of it, as she incidentally 
alluded to the manners and appearance of Sandford, who had 
been introduced by Mr. Merton to his mother and sister, a sus- 
picion, which the police papers had first awakened, that the 
gentleman in question was an old acquaintance of my own, and 
one, moreover, whose favors I was extremely desirous to reton 
in kind, flashed with increased conviction across my mind. This 
surmise I of course kept to myself; and after emphatically 
cautioning the ladies to keep our proceedings a profound secret 
Prom Mr. Merton, I took my leave, amply provided with the 
resources requisite for carrying into effect the scheme which I had 
resolved upon. I also arranged that, instead of waiting personally 
on her ladyship, which might excite observation and suspicion, I 
should report progress by letter through the post. 

“ If it should be he ! ” thought I, as I emerged into the street. 
The bare suspicion had sent the blood through my veins with 
furious violence. “ If this Sandford be, as I suspect, that villain 
Garden, success will indeed be triumph — victory ! Lady Everton 
need not in that case seek to animate my zeal by promises of 
money recompense. A blighted existence, a young and gentle 
wife by his means cast down from opulence to sordid penury, 
would stimulate the dullest craven that ever crawled the earth 
to energy and action. Pray Heaven my suspicion prove correct ; 
and then, oh mine enemy, look well to yourself, for the avenger 
b at your heels ! ” 

Sandford, I had been instructed was usually present at the 


10 


THE GAMBLER. 


Italian Opera during tlie ballet : the box he generally occupied 
was designated in the memoranda of the police : and as I saw 
by the bills that a very successful piece was to be performed that 
evening, I determined on being present. 

I entered the house a few minutes past ten o’clock, just after 
the commencement of the ballet, and looked eagerly round 
The box in which I was instructed to seek my man was empty 
The momentary disappointment was soon repaid. Five minutes 
had not elapsed when Cardon, looking more insolently-triumphant 
than ever, entered arm-in-arm with a pale aristocratic-looking 
young man, whom I had no dijQ&culty, from his striking resem- 
blance to a portrait in Lady Everton’s drawing-room, in deciding 
to be Mr. Merton. My course of action was at once determined 
on. Pausing only to master the emotion which the sight of the. 
glittering reptile in whose poisonous folds I had been involved 
and crushed inspired, I passed to the opposite side of the house, 
and boldly entered the box. Cardon’s back was towards me. 
and I tapped him lightly on the shoulder. He turned quicklj 
round ; and if a basilisk had confronted him, he could scarcely 
have exhibited greater terror and surprise. My aspect, never- 
theless, was studiously bland and conciliating, and my out- 
stretched hand seemed to invite a renewal of our old friendship 
“ Waters ! ” he at last stammered, feebly accepting my prof- 
fered grasp — “ who would have thought of meeting you here ? ’ 

“ Not you, certainly, since you stare at an old friend as if he 

were some frightful goblin about to swallow you. Really” 

“ Hush ! Let us speak together in the lobby. An old friend,’ 
he added in answer to Mr. Merton’s surprised stare. “We will 
return in an instant.” 

“ Why, what is all this, Waters.?” said Cardon, recovering 
hi.s wonted sang froid the instant we were alone. “ I understood 


THE GAMBJ.ER. 


11 


you had retired from amongst us ; were in fact — what shall 1 
say r ” 

“ Ruined — done up ! Nobody should know that better than 
you.” 

“ My good fellow, you do not imagine” 

“ I imagine nothing, my dear Cardon. I was very thoroughly 
done — done hrown^ as it is written in the vulgar tongue. But 
fortunately my kind old uncle ” 

‘‘ Passgrove is dead i ” interrupted my old acquaintance, 
eagerly jumping to a conclusion, “ and you are his heir ! I con- 
gratulate you, my dear fellow. This is indeed a charming ‘ re- 
verse of circumstances.’ ” 

“ Yes ; but mind I have given up the old game. No more 
dice-devilry for me. I have promised Emily never even to 
touch a card again.” 

The cold, hard eye of the incarnate fiend — he was little else — 
gleamed mockingly as these “ good intentions ” of a practised 
gamester fell upon his ear ; but he only replied, “ Very good ; 
quite right, my dear boy. But come, let me introduce you to 
Mr. Merton, a highly connected personage I assure you. By 
the by. Waters,” he added in a caressing, confidential tone, 
“ my name, for family and other reasons, which I will hereafter 
explain to you, is for the present Sandford.” 

“ Sandford ! ” 

“ Yes : do not forget. But allom^ or the ballet will be over.” 

I was introduced in due form to Mr. Merton as an old and 
isteemed friend, whom he — Sandford — had not seen for many 
months. At the conclusion of the ballet, Sandford proposed 
that we should adjourn to the European Coffee-house, nearly 
opposite. This was agreed to, and out we sallied. At the tof 
of the staircase we jostled against the commissioner, who, like 


12 


IHE GAMBLER. 


US, was leaving the house. He bowed slightly to Mr. Merton’s 
apology, and his eye wandered briefly and coldly over our per- 
sons ; but not the faintest sign of interest or recognition escaped 
him. I thought it possible he did not know me in my changed 
apparel ; but looking back after descending a few steps, I was 
quickly undeceived. A sharp, swift glance, expressive both of 
encouragement and surprise, shot out from under his penthouse 
brows, and as swiftly vanished. He did not know how little I 
needed spm’ring to the goal we had both in view ! 

W e discussed two or three bottles of wine with much gaiety 
and relish. Sandford especially was in exuberant spirits ; brim- 
ming over with brilliant anecdote and sparkling badinage. He 
saw in me a fresh, rich prey, and his eager spirit revelled by 
anticipation in the victory which he nothing doubted to obtain 
over my “ excellent intentions and wife-pledged virtue.” About 
!nlf-past twelve o’clock he proposed to adjourn. This was 
eagerly assented to by Mr. Merton, who had for some time ex- 
hibited unmistakeable symptoms of impatience and unrest. 

“You will accompany us. Waters ? ” said Sandford, as we 
rose to depart. “ There is, I suppose, no vow registered in the 
matrimonial archives against looking on at a game played by 
others ? ” 

“ Oh no ; but don’t ask me to play.” 

“ Certainly not ; ” and a devilish sneer curled his lip. “ Your 
virtue shall suffer no temptation be assured.” 

We soon arrived before the doer of a quiet, respectable look- 
ing house in one of the streets leading from the Strand : a low 
peculiar knock, given by Sandford, was promptly answered ; 
then a password, which I did not catch, was whispered by him 
through the key-hole, and we passed in. 

W e proceeded up stau’s to the flrst floor, the shutters «f which 


THEGAMBLER. IS 

were carefully closed, so that no intimation of what was going 
on could possibly reach the street. The apartment was bril- 
liantly lighted : a roulette table and dice and cards were in full 
activity : wine and liquors of all varieties were profusely paraded. 
There were about half-a-dozen persons present, I soon discover- 
ed, besides the gang, and that comprised eleven or twelve well- 
dressed desperadoes, whose sinster aspec ts induced a momentary 
qualm lest one or more of the pleasant party might suspect or 
recognise my vocation. This, however, I reflected, was scarcely 
possible. My beat during the short period I had been in the 
force was far distant from the usual haunts of such gentry, and 
I was otherwise unknown in London. Still, questioning glances 
were eagerly directed towards my introducer ; and one big burly 
fellow, a foreigner — the rascals were the scum of various 
countries — was very unpleasantly inquisitorial. “ Y^en reponds ! 

I heard Sandford say in answer to his iterated queries ; and he 
added something in a whisper which brought a sardonic smile to 
the fellow’s lips, and induced a total change in his demeanor 
towards myself This was reassuring ; for though provided with 
pistols, I should, I felt, have little chance with such utterly 
reckless ruffians as those by whom I was surrounded. Play was 
proposed ; and though at first stoutly refusing, I feigned to be 
gradually overcome by irresistible temptation, and sat down to 
blind hazard with my foreign friend for moderate stakes. I was 
graciously allowed to win ; and in the end found myself richer 
in de\Tl’s money by about ten pounds. Mr. IMerton was soon 
absorbed in the chances of the dice, and lost large sums, for 
which, when the money he had brought with him was exhausted, 
he gave written acknowledgements ^ The cheating practised 
upon him was really audacious ; and any one but a tyro must 
have repeatedly detected it. He, however, appeared not to 


14 


THE GAMBLER. 


entertain the slightest suspicion of the “ fair-play ” of his oppo- 
nents, guiding himseU' entirely by the advice of his friend and 
counsellor, Sandford, who did not himself play. The amiable 
assemblage broke up about six in the morning, each person retir- 
ing singly by the back way, receiving, as he departed, a new 
password for the next evening. 

A few hours afterwards, I waited on the commissioner to re- 
port the state of affairs. He was delighted with the fortunate 
dehut I had made, but still strictly enjoined patience and cau- 
tion. It would have been easy, as I was in possession of the 
password, to have surprised the confederacy in the act of gam- 
ing that very evening ; but this would only have accomplished 
a part of the object aimed at. Several of the fraternity — Sand- 
ford amongst the number — were suspected of uttering forged 
foreign bank-notes, and it was essential to watch narrowly for 
legal evidence to insure their conviction. It was also desirable 
to restore, if possible, the property and securities of which Mr. 
Merton had been pillaged. 

Nothing of especial importance occurred for seven or eight 
days. Graming went on as usual every evening, and Mr. Merton 
became of course more and more involved: even his sister’s 
jewels — which he had surreptitiously obtained, to such a depth 
of degredation will this frightful vice plunge men otherwise 
honorable — had been staked and lost ; and he was, by the advice 
of Sandford, about to conclude a heavy mortgage on his estate, 
in order not only to clear off his enormous ‘ debts of honor,’ 
but to acquire fresh means of ‘ winning back ’ — that ignus-fatuu 
of all gamblers — his tremendous losses! A new preliminary 
‘ dodge ’ was, I observed, now brought into action. Mr. Merton 
esteemed himself a knowing hand at ecarti : it was introduced ; 
find he was permitted to win every game he played, much to the 


THE GAMBLER. 


15 


apparent annoyance and discomfiture of the losers. As this wa.s 
precisely the snare into which I had myself fallen, I of course 
the more readily detected it, and felt quite satisfied that a grand 
coup was meditated. In the meantime I had not been idle. 
Sandford was confidentially informed that I was only waiting in 
London to receive between four and five thousand pounds — part 
of Uncle Passgrove’s legacy — and then intended to immediately 
hasten back to canny Yorkshire. To have seen the villain’s 
eyes as I incidentally, as it were, announced my errand and in- 
tention ! They fairly flashed with infernal glee ! Ah, Sandford, 
Sandford ! you were, with all your cunning, but a sand-blind 
idiot to believe the man you had wronged and ruined could so 
easily forget the debt he owed you ! 

The crisis came swiftly on. Mr. Merton’s mortgage-money 
was to be paid on the morrow ; and on that day, too, I announced 
the fabulous thousands receivable by me were to be handed over. 
Mr. Merton, elated by his repeated triumphs at ecarte, and 
prompted by his friend Sandford, resolved, instead of cancelling 
the bonds and obligations held by the conspirators, to redeem 
his losses by staking on that game his ready money against those 
liabilities. This was at first demurred to with much apparent 
earnestness by the winners ; but Mr. Merton, warmly seconded 
by Sandford, insisting upon the concession, as he deemed it, it 
was finally agreed that ecarte should be the game by which he 
might hope to regain the fortune and the peace of mind he had 
so rashly squandered : the last time, should he be successful— 
and was he not sure of success t — he assured Sandford, that he 
would ever handle cards or dice. He should have heard the 
mocking merriment with which the gang heard Sandford repeat 
this resolution to amend his ways — when he had recovered back 
his wealth ! 


2 


Id 


THE GAMBLER. 


The day so eagerly longed for by Merton and the confeder- 
ates — by the spoilers and their prey — arrived ; and I awaited 
with feverish anxiety the coming on of night. Only the chief 
conspirators — eight in number — were to be present ; and no 
stranger except myself — a privilege I owed to the moonshine 
legacy I had just received — was to be admitted to this crowning 
riumph of successful fraud. One only hint I had ventured to 
give Mr. Merton, and that under a promise, ‘ on his honor as 
a gentleman,’ of inviolable secrecy. It was this : “ Be sure, 
before commencing play to-morrow night, that the bonds and 
obligations you have signed, the jewels you have lost, with a sum 
in notes or gold to make up an equal amount to that which you 
mean to risk, is actually deposited on the table.” He promised 
to insist on this condition. It involved much more than he 
dreamt of. 

My arrangements were at length thoroughly complete ; and 
a few minutes past twelve o’clock the whispered password ad- 
mitted me into the house. An angry altercation was going on. 
Mr. Merton was insisting, as I had advised, upon the exhibition 
of a sum equal to that which he had brought with him — ^for, 
confident of winning, he was determined to recover his losses to 
the last farthing ; and although his bonds,, bills, obligations, his 
sister’s jewels, and a large amount in gold and genuine notes, 
were produced, there was still a heavy sum deficient. “Ah, by 
the by,” exclaimed Sandford as I entered, “ Waters can lend 
vou the sum for an hour or two — for a consideration^'^'' he added 
n a whisper. “ It will soon be returned.” 

“ No, thank you,” I answered coldly. “ I never part with 
my money till I have lost it.” 

A malignant scowl passed over the scoundrel’s features ; but 
he made no reply. Ultimately it was decided that one of the 


THE GAMBLER. 


1 


fraternity sh^'uld be despatched in search of the required amount 
He was gone about half an hour, and returned with a bundle of 
notes. They were, as I hoped and expected, forgeries on for- 
eign banks. Mr. Merton looked at and counted them ; and play 

commenced. 

* 

As it went on, so vividly did the scene recall the evening that 
nad sealed my own ruin, that I grew dizzy with excitement, and 
drained tumbler after tumbler of water to allay the fevered 
throbbing of my veins. The gamblers were fortunately too 
much absorbed to heed my agitation. Merton lost continuously 
— without pause or intermission. The stakes were doubled — 
trebled — quadrupled ! His brain was on fire ; and he played, 
or rather lost, with the recklessness of a madman. 

‘‘ Hark ! what’s that ? ” suddenly exclaimed Sandford, from 
whose Satanic features the mask he had so long worn before 
Merton had been gradually slipping. “ Did you not hear a noise 
below ? ” 

My ear had caught the sound ; and I could better interpret 
it than he. It ceased. 

“ Touch the signal-bell, Adolphe,” added Sandford. 

Not only the play, but the very breathing of the villains, was 
suspended as they listened for the reply. 

It came. The answering tinkle sounded once — twice — thrice 
“ All right ! ” shouted Sandford. “ Proceed ! The farce is 
nearly played out.” 

^ had instructed the officers that two of them in plain clothes 
hould present themselves at the front door, obtain admission by 
jieans of the password I had given them, and immediately seize 
and gag the door-keeper. I had also acquainted them with the 
proper answer to the signal-wring — three distinct pulls at the 
bell-handle communicating with the first fioor. Then- comrades 


18 


THE GAMBLER. 


were then to be admitted, and they were all to silently ascend 
the stairs, and wait on the landing till summoned by me to enter 
and seize the gamesters. The back entrance to the house was 
also securely but unobtrusively watched. 

One only fear disturbed me : it was lest the scoundrels should 
take alarm in sufficient time to extinguish the lights, destroy the 
forged papers, and possibly escape by some private passage 
which might, unknown to me, exist. 

Rousing myself, as soon as the play was resumed, from the 
trance of memory by which I had been in some sort absorbed, 
and first ascertaining that the handles of my pistols were within 
easy reach — ^for I knew I was playing a desperate game with 
desperate men — I rose, stepped carelessly to the door, partially 
opened it, and bent forward, as if listening for a repetition of 
the sound which had so alarmed the company. To my great 
delight the landing and stairs were filled with police-officers — 
silent and stern as death. I drew back, and walked towards 
the table at which Mr. Merton was seated. The last stake — an 
enormous one — was being played for. Merton lost. He sprang 
upon his feet, death-pale, despaiiing, overwhelmed, and a hoarse 
execration surged through his clenched teeth. Sandford and his 
associates coolly raked the plunder together, theii’ features lighted 
up with fiendish glee. 

“ Villain ! — traitor ! — miscreant ! ” shrieked Mr. Merton, 
as if smitten with sudden frenzy, and darting at Sandford’s 
throat: “you, devil that you are, have undone, destroyed 
me ! ” 

“No doubt of it,” calmly replied Sandford, shaking off his 
victim’s grasp ; “ and I think it has been very artistically and 
effectually done too. Snivelling, my fine fellow, will scarcely 
help you much ” 


THE GAMBLER. 


19 


Mr. Merton glared upon the taunting villain in speechless 
agony and rage. 

“ Not quite so fast, Cardon^ if you please,” I ex- 
claimed, at the same time taking up a bundle of forged notes. 
“ It does not appear to me that Mr. Merton has played 
against equal stakes, for unquestionably this paper is not 
genuine.” 

‘‘ Dog ! ” roared Sandford, “ do you hold your life so 
cheap .? ” and he rushed towards me, as if to seize the forged 
notes. 

I was as quick as he, and the levelled tube of a pistol sharply 
arrested his eager onslaught. The entire gang gathered near 
us, flaming with excitement. Mr. Merton looked bewilderedly 
from one to another, apparently scarcely conscious of what was 
passing around him. 

“ Wrench the papers from him ! ” screamed Sandford, re- 
covering his energy. “ Seize him — stab, strangle him ! ” 

“ Look to yourself, scoundrel ! ” I shouted with equal vehe- 
mence. “ Your hour is come ! Officers, enter and do your 
duty ! ” 

In an instant the room was filled with police ; and sui*- 
prised, panic-stricken, paralysed by the suddenness of the 
catastrophe, the gang were all secured without the slightest 
resistance, though most of them were armed, and marched otf 
in custody. 

Three — Sandford, or Cardon ; hut he had half-a-dozen aliases^ 
one of them — were transported for life : the rest were sentenced 
to various terms of imprisonment. My task was effectually 
accomplished. My superiors were pleased to express very warm 
commendation of the manner in which I had acquitted myself ; 
and the first step in the promotion which ultimately led to my 


20 


THE GAMBLER. 


present position in another branch of the public service was 
soon afterwards conferred upon me. Mr. Merton had his bonds, 
obligations, jewels, and money, restored to him ; and, taught 
wisdom by terrible experience, never again entered a gaming- 
house. N^either he nor his lady-mother was ungrateful for the 
^rvice I had been fortunate enough to render them 


IL 


GUILTY OR NOT GUILTY? 

A Ftvf weeks after the lucky termination of the Sandford affair 
I was engaged in the investigation of a remarkable case of burg- 
lary, accompanied by homicide, which had just occurred at the 
residence of Mr. Bagshawe, a gentleman of competent fortune, 
situated within a few miles of Kendal in Westmoreland. The 
particulars forwarded to the London police authorities by the 
local magistracy were chiefly these : — 

Mr. Bagshawe, who had been some time absent at Leaming- 
ton, Warkwickshire, with his entire establishment, wrote to 
Sarah King — a young woman left in charge of the house and 
property — to announce his own speedy return, and at the same 
time directing her to have a particular bedroom aired, and other 
household matters arranged for the reception of his nephew, Mr. 
Robert Bristowe, who, having just arrived from abroad, would, 
he expected, leave London immediately for Five Oaks’ House. 
The positive arrival of this nephew had been declared to several 
tradesmen of Kendal by King early in the day preceding the 
night of the murder and robbery ; and by her directions butcher- 
meat, poultry, fish, and so on, had been sent by them to Five 
Oaks for his tabic The lad who carried the fish home stated 
that he had seen a strange young gentleman in one of the sitting- 
rooms on the ground-floor through the half-opened door of the 
apartment. On the following morning it was discovered that 
Five Oaks’ House had been, not indeed broken inlOy but broken 


32 


GUILTY OR NOT GUILTY? 


out of. This was evident from the state of the door fastenings 
and the servant-woman barbarously murdered. The neighbors 
found her lying quite dead and cold at the foot of the principal 
staircase, clothed only in her nightgown and stockings, and with ' 
a flat chamber candlestick tightly grasped in her right hand. 1 
was conjectured that she had been roused from sleep by some 
noise below, and having descended to ascertain the cause, had 
been mercilessly slain by the disturbed burglars. Mr. Bagshawe 
arrived on the following day, and it was then found that not only 
a large amount of plate, but between three and four thou.«!and 
pounds in gold and notes — the produce of government stock sold 
out about two months previously — had been carried oft'. The 
only person, except his niece, who lived with him, that knew 
there was this sum in the house, was his nephew Robert Bris- 
towe, to whom he had written, directing his letter to the Hum- 
mums Hotel, London, stating that the sum for the long-contem- 
plated purchase of Ryland’s had been some time lying idle at 
Five Oaks, as he had wished to consult him upon his bargain 
before finally concluding it. This Mr. Robert Bristowe was now 
nowhere to be seen or heard of ; and what seemed to confirm 
beyond a doubt the — to Mr. Bagshawe and his niece — torturing, 
horrifying suspicion that this nephew was the burglar and assas- 
sin, a portion of the identical letter written to him by his uncle 
was found in one of the offices ! As he was nowhere to be met 
with or heard of in the neighborhood of Kendal, it was surmised 
that he must have returned to London with his booty ; and a 
full description of his person, and the dress he wore, as given 
by the fishmonger’s boy, was sent to London by the authorities. 
They also forwarded for our use and assistance one J osiah Barnes, 
a sly, sharp, vagabond-sort of fellow, who had been apprehended 
on suspicion, chiefly, or rather wholly, because of his former in- 


GUILTY OR NOT GUILTY? 


23 


timacy with the unfortunate Sarah King, who had discarded him, 
it seemed, on account of his incorrigibly idle, and in other re- 
spects disreputable habits. The alibi he set up was, however, 
so clear and decisive, that he was but a few hours in custody j 
and he now exhibited great zeal for the discovery of the murderer 
of the woman to whom he had, to the extent of his perverted 
instincts, been sincerely attached He fiddled at the festivals 
of the humbler Kendalese ; sang, tumbled, ventriloquized at 
their tavern orgies ; and had he not been so very highly-gifted, 
might, there was little doubt, have earned a decent living as a 
carpenter, to which profession his father, by dint of much exer- 
tion, had about half-bred him. His principal use to us wa^ , that 
he was acquainted with the features of Mr. Robert Bristowe ; 
and accordingly, as soon as I had received my commission and 
instructions, I started off with him to the Hummums Hotel, 
Covent Garden. In answer to my inquiries, it was stated that 
Mr. Robert Bristowe had left the hotel a week previously with- 
out settling his bill — ^which was, however, of very small amount, 
as he usually paid every evening — and had not since been heard 
of ; neither had he taken his luggage with him. This was odd, 
though the period stated would have given him ample time to 
reach Westmoreland on the day it was stated he had arrived 
there. 

“ What dress did he wear when he left ?” 

“ That which he usually wore : a foraging-cap with a gold 
band, a blue military surtout coat, light trousers, and Wellington 
boots. 

The precise dress described by the fishmonger’s errand-boy ! 
Wc next proceeded to the Bank of England, to ascertain if any 
of the stolen notes had been presented for payment. I handed 
m a list of the numbers furnished by Mr. Bagshawe, and was 


24 


eUILTY OR NOT GUILTY? 


politely informed that they had all been cashed early the day 
before by a gentleman in a sort of undress uniform, and wearing 
a foraging cap. Lieutenant James was the name indorsed upon 
them ; and the address Harley Street, Cavendish Square, was 
of course a fictitious one. The cashier doubted if he should be 
able to swear to the person of the gentleman who changed the 
notes, but he had particularly noticed his dress. I returned to 
Scotland Yard to report no progress ; and it was then determined 
to issue bills descriptive of Bristowe’s person, and offering a con- 
siderable reward for his apprehension, or such information as 
might lead to it ; but the order had scarcely been issued, when 
who should we see walking deliberately down the yard towards 
the police-office but Mr. Robert Bristowe himself, dressed pre- 
cisely as before described ! I had just time to caution the in- 
spector not to betray any suspicion, but to hear his story, and 
let him quietly depart, and to slip with Josiah Barnes out of 
sight, when he entered, and made a formal but most confused 
complaint of having been robbed something more than a week 
previously — ^where or by whom he knew not— and afterwards 
deceived, bamboozled, and led astray in his pursuit of the rob- 
bers, by a person whom he now suspected to be a confederate 
with them. Even of this latter personage he could afford no 
tangible information ; and the inspector, having quietly listened 
to his statement — intended, doubtless, as a mystification — told 
him the police should make inquiries, and wished him good- 
morning. As soon as he had turned out of Scotland Yard by 
the street leading to the Strand, I was upon his track. He 
walked slowly on, but without pausing, till he reached the Sar- 
acen’s Head, Snow-Hill, where, to my great astonishment, he 
booked himself for Westmoreland by the night-coach. He then 
walkei into the inn, and seating himself in the coffee-room. 


QUILTY OR NOT GUILTY? 


25 


called for a pint of sherry wine and some biscuits. He was now 
safe for a short period at any rate ; and I was about to take a 
turn in the street, just to meditate upon the most advisable 
course of action, when I espied three buckishly-attired, bold- 
faced looking fellows — one of whom I thought I reeognised, spite 
of his fine dress — enter the booking-office. Naturally anxious in 
ny vocation, I approached as closely to the door as I could with- 
out being observed, and heard one of them — my acquaintance 
sure enough ; I could not be deceived in that voice — ask the 
clerk if there were any vacant places in the night-coach to W est- 
moreland To Westmoreland ! Why, what in the name of 
Mercury could a detachment of the swell-mob be wanting in 
that country of furze and frieze-coats The next sentence ut- 
tered by my friend, as he placed the money for booking three 
insides to Kendal on the counter was equally, or perhaps more 
puzzling : “Is the gentleman who entered the office just now — 
him with a foraging cap I mean — to be our fellow-passenger 

“ Yes, he has booked himself ; and has, I think, since gone 
into the house.” 

“Thank you: good-morning.” 

I had barely time to slip aside into one of the passages, when 
the three gentlemen came out of the office, passed me, and swag- 
gered out of the yard. Vague, undefined suspicions at once beset 
me relative to the connection of these worthies with the “ forag- 
ing-cap” and the doings at Kendal. There was evidently some- 
hing in all this more than natural, if police philosophy could 
but find it out. I resolved at all events to try ; and in order to 
have a chance of doing so, I determined to be of the party, 
nothing doubting that I should be able, in some way or other, 
to make one in whatever game they intended playing. I in my 
turn entered the booking-office, and finding there were still two 


26 


IT!" 


eUILTY OR NOT GU.:. 


places vacant, secured them both for James Jenkins and Josiah 
Barnes, countrymen and friends of mine returning to the ‘‘ north 
countrie.” 

I returned to the coffee-room, where Mr. Bristowe was still 
seated, apparently in deep and anxious meditation, and wrote a 
note, with which I despatched the inn port^. « I had now ample 
leisure for observing the suspected burglar and. assassin. He 
was a pale, intellectual-looking, and withal handsome young 
man, of about &ix-and-twenty years of age, of slight but well- 
knit frame, and with the decided air — travel-stained and jaded 
as he appeared — of a gentleman. His look was troubled and 
careworn, but I sought in vain for any indication of the starting, 
nervous tremor always in my experience exhibited by even old 
practitioners in crime when suddenly accosted. Several persons 
had entered the room hastily, without causing him even to look 
up. I determined to try an experiment on his nerves, which I 
was quite satisfied no man who had recently connnitted a mur- 
der, and but the day before changed part of the produce of that 
crime into gold at the Bank of England, could endure without 
wincing. My object was, not to procure evidence producible in 
‘ court of law by such means, but to satisfy my own mind. I 
telt a growing conviction that, spite of appearances, the young 
man was guiltless of the deed imputed to him, and might be the 
victim, I could not help thinking, either of some strange combi- 
nation of circumstances, or, more likely, of a diabolical plot for 
his destruction, essential, possibly, to the safety of the real per- 
petrators of the crime ; very probably — so ran my suspicions — - 
friends and acquaintances of the thre-e gentlemen who were to 
be our fellow-travelers. My duty, I knew, was quite as much 
the vindication of innocence as the detection of guilt ; and if I 
could satisfy myself that he was not the guilty party, no effort 


OLILTY OR NOT GUILTY? 


27 


of mine should be wanting, I determined, to extricate him from 
the perilous position in which he stood. I went out of the room, 
and remained absent for some time ; then suddenly entered with 
a sort of bounce, walked swiftly, and with a determined air, 
straight up to the box where he was seated, grasped him tightly 
by the arm, and exclaimed roughly, ‘‘So I have found you at 
last !” There was no start, no indication of fear whatever — 
not the slightest ; the expression of his countenance, as he peev- 
ishly replied, “ What the devil do you mean ?” was simply one 
of surprise and annoyance. 

“ I beg your pardon,” I replied ; “ the waiter told me a friend 
of mine, one Bagshawe^ who has given me the slip, was here, 
and I mistook you for him.” 

He courteously accepted my apology, quietly remarking at the 
same time that though his own name was Bristowe, he had, oddly 
enough, an uncle in the country of the same name as the person 
I had mistaken him for. Surely, thought I, this man is guilt- 
less of the crime imputed to him ; and yet At this mo- 

ment the porter entered to announce the arrival of the gentleman 
I had sent for. I went out ; and after giving the new-comer 
instructions not to lose sight of Mr. Bristowe, hastened home to 
make arrangements for the journey. 

Transformed, by the aid of a flaxen wig, broad-brimmed hat, 
green spectacles, and a multiplicity of waistcoats and shawls, into 
a heavy and elderly, well-to-do personage, I took my way with 
Josiah Barnes — whom I had previously thoroughly drilled as t« 
speech and behavior towards our companions — to the Saracen’ 
Head a few minutes previous to the time for starting. We 
found Mr. Bristowe already seated ; but the “ three friends,” I 
observed, were curiously looking on, desirous no doubt of ascer- 
taining who were to be their fellow-travelers before venturing t^ 


28 


GUILTY OR NOT GUILTY r 


coop themselves up in a space so narrow, and, under certain cir- 
cumstances, so difficult of egress. My appearance and that of 
Barnes — who, sooth to say, looked much more of a simpleton 
than he really was — quite reassured them, and in they jumped 
with confident alacrity. A few minutes afterwards the “ all 
right” of the attending ostlers gave the signal for departure, and 
away we started. 

A more silent, less social party I never assisted at. What- 
ever amount of feast of reason” each or either of us mighi 
have silently enjoyed, not a drop of “ fiow of soul” welled up 
from one of the six insides. Every passenger seemed to have 
his own peculiar reasons for declining to display himself in either 
mental or physical prominence. Only one or two incidents — 
apparently unimportant, but which I carefully noted down in the 
tablet of my memory — occurred during the long, wearisome 
journey, till we stopped to dine at about thirty miles from 
Kendal ; when I ascertained, from an over-heard conversation 
of one of the three with the coachman, that they intended to 
get down at a roadside tavern more than six miles on this side 
of that place. 

“ Do you know this house they intend to stop at .^” I inquired 
of my assistant as soon as I got him out of sight and hearing at 
the back of the premises. 

“ Quite well : it is within about two miles of Five Oaks’ 
House.” 

“ Indeed ! Then you must stop there too. It is necessary I 
should go on to Kendal with Mr. Bristowe ; but you can remain 
and watch their proceedings.” 

“ With all my heart.” 

“ But what excuse can you make for remaining there, when 
they know you are booked for Kendal ? Fellows of that stamp 


GUILTY OR NOT GUILTY? 


29 


are keenly suspicious ; and in order to be useful, you must bo 
entirely unsuspected.” 

“ Oh, leave that to me. I’ll throw dust enough in their eyes 
to blind a hundred such as they, I warrant ye.” 

“ Well, we shall see. And now to dinner.” 

Soon after, the coach had once more started. Mr. Josiah 
Barnes began drinking from a stone bottle which he drew from 
his pocket ; and so potent must have been the spirit it contained, 
that he became rapidly intoxicated. Not only speech, but eyes, 
body, arms, legs, the entire animal, by the time we reached the 
inn where we had agreed he should stop, was thoroughly, hope- 
lessly drunk ; and so savagely quarrelsome, too, did he become, 
that I expected every instant to hear my real vocation pointed 
out for the edification of the company. Strange to say, utterly 
stupid and savage as he seemed, all dangerous topics were care- 
fully avoided. When the coach stopped, he got out — how, I 
know not — and reeled and tumbled into the tap-room, from 
which he declared he would not budge an inch till next day. 
Vainly did the coachman remonstrate with him upon his foolish 
obstinacy ; he might as well have argued with a bear ; and he 
at length determined to leave him to his drunken humor. I 
was out of patience with the fellow ; and snatching an opportu- 
nity when the room was clear, began to upbraid him for his 
vexatious folly. He looked sharply round, and then, his body 
as evenly balanced, his eye as clear, his speech as free as my 
own, crowed out in a low exulting voice, “ Didn’t I tell you I’d 
manage it nicely ?” The door opened, and, in a twinkling, 
extremity of drunkenness, of both brain and limb, was again 
assumed with a perfection of acting I have never seen equalled. 
He had studied from nature, that was perfectly clear. I was 
’^uitc satisfied, and with renewed confidence obeyed the coach- 


30 


GUILTY OR NOT G U I L T If f 


man’s call to take my seat. Mr. Bristowe and I were new the 
only inside passengers ; and as farther disguise was useless, I 
began stripping myself of my superabundant clothing, wig, spec- 
tacles, &c., and in a few minutes, with the help of a bundle I 
had with me, presented to the astonished gaze of my fellow- 
traveler the identical person that had so rudely accosted him in 
the coflfee-room of the Saracen’s Head inn. 

“ Why, what, in the name of all that’s comical, is the mean 
ing of this demanded Mr. Bristowe, laughing immoderately 
at my changed appearance. 

I briefly and cooly informed him *, and he was for some min- 
utes overwhelmed with consternation and astonishment. He had 
not, he said, even heard of the catastrophe at his uncle’s. Still, 
amazed and bewildered as he was, no sign which I could interpret 
into an indication of guilt escaped him. 

“ I do not wish to obtrude upon your confidence, Mr. Bris- 
towe,” I remarked, after a long pause ; “ but you must perceive 
that unless the circumstances I have related to you are in some 
way explained, you stand in a perilous predicament.” 

“ You are right,” he replied, after some hesitation. “ It is 
a tangled web ; still, I doubt not that some mode of vindicating 
my perfect innocence will present itself.” 

He then relapsed into silence ; and neither of us spoke again 
till the coach stopped, in accordance with a previous intimation 
I had given the coachman, opposite the gate of the Kendal 
prison. Mr. Bristowe started, and changed color, but instantly 
mastering his emotion, he calmly said, “ You of course but per- 
form your duty ; mine is not to distrust a just and all-seeing 
Providence.” 

We entered the jail, and the necessary search of his clothes 
and luggage was efiected ais forbearingly as possible. To my 


G U r L T Y OR N 0 'I G U I L 'F Y r 


31 


great dismay we found amongst the money in his purse a Spanish 
gold piece of a peculiar coinage, and in the lining of his port- 
manteau, very dexterously hidden, a cross set with brilliants, 
both of which I knew, by the list forwarded to the London po- 
lice, formed part of the plunder carried ofif from Five Oaks’ 
•House. The prisoner’s vehement protestations that he could 
not conceive how such articles came into his possession, excited 
a derisive smile on the face of the veteran turnkey ; whilst I 
was thoroughly dumb-founded by the seemingly complete de- 
molition of the theory of innocence I had woven out of his candid 
open manner and unshakeable hardihood of nerve. 

“ I dare say the articles came to you in your sleep !” sneered 
the turnkey as we turned to leave the cell. 

‘‘ Oh,” I mechanically exclaimed, “ in his sleep ! I had not 
thought of that !” The man stared ; but I had passed out of 
the prison before he could express his surprise or contempt in 
words 

The next morning the justice-room was densely crowded, to 
hear the examination of the prison-er. There was also a very 
numerous attendance of magistrates ; the case, from the position 
in life of the prisoner, and the strange and mysterious circum- 
stances of the affair altogether, having excited an extraordinary 
and extremely painful interest amongst all classes in the town 
and neighborhood. The demeanor of the accused gentleman 
was anxious certainly, but withal calm and collected ; and there 
was, I thought, a light of fortitude and conscious probity in hia 
clear, bold eyes, which guilt never yet successfully stimulated. 

After the hearing of some minor evidence, the fishmonger’s 
boy was called, and asked if he could point out the person he 
had seen at Five Oaks on the day preceding the burglary f The 
lad looked fixedly at the pi-isoner for something more than a 
3 


.S2 GMLTY OR NOT GUILTY? 

minute without speaking, and then said, “ The gentleman was 
standing before the fire when I saw him, with his cap on ; I 
should like to see this person with his cap on before I say any- 
thing.” Mr. Bristowe dashed on his foraging-cap, and the boy 
immediately exclaimed, “ That is the man !” Mr. Cowan, a 
solicitor, retained by Mr. Bagshawe for his nephew, objected 
that this was, after all, only swearing to a cap, or at best to 
the eMsemUe of a dress, and ought not to be received. The 
chairman, however, decided that it must be taken quantum 
valeat^ and in corroboration of other evidence. It was next 
deposed by several persons that the deceased Sarah King had 
told them that her master’s nephew had positively arrived at 
Five Oaks. An objection to the reception of this evidence, as 
partaking of the nature of “ heresay,” was also made, and simi- 
larly overruled. Mr. Bristowe begged to observe “ that Sarah 
Kiu^ was not one of his uncle’s old servants, and was entirely 
unknown to him : it was quite possible, therefore, that he was 
personally unknown to her.” The bench observed that all these 
observations might be fitly urged before a jury, but, in the pres- 
ent stage of the proceedings, were uselessly addressed to them, 
whose sole duty it was to ascertain if a sufiiciently strong case 
of suspicion had been made out against the prisoner to justify his 
committal for trial. A constable next proved finding a portion 
of a letter, which he produced, in one of the offices of Five 
Oaks ; and then Mr. Bagshawe was directed to be called 
The prisoner, upon hearing this order given, exhibited gr 
emotion, and earnestly intreated that his uncle and hims 
might be spared the necessity of meeting each other for 
first time after a separation of several years under such circi 
stances. 

‘‘We can receive no evidence against you, Mr. Bristowe, 


(J U r L y OR NOT GUILTY? 


:-i-A 


your absence,” replied the chairman in a compassionate tone of 
voice ; “ but your uncle’s deposition will occupy but a few min- 
utes. It is, however, indispensable.” 

‘‘ At least, then, Mr. Co\^n,” said the agitated young man, 
“ prevent my sister from accompanying her uncle : I could no 
bear thaty 

He was assured she would not be present ; in fact she had 
become seriously ill through anxiety and terror and the crowded 
assemblage awaited in painful silence the approach of the reluc- 
tant prosecutor. He presently appeared — a venerable, white- 
haired man ; seventy years old at least lie seemed, his form 
bowed by age and grief, his eyes fixed upon the ground, and his 
whole manner indicative of sorrow and dejection. “ Uncle !” 
cried the prisoner, springing towards him. The aged man looked 
up, seemed to read in the clear countenance of his nephew a 
full refutation of the suspicions entertained against him, tottered 
forwards with out-spread arms, and, in the words of the Sacred 
text, “ fell upon his neck, and wept,” exclaiming in choking 
accents, “ Forgive me — forgive me, Kobert, that I ever for a 
moment doubted you. Mary never did — never, Robert ; not 
for an instant.” 

A profound silence prevailed during this outburst of feeling, 
and a considerable pause ensued before the usher of the court, 
at a gesture from the chairman, touched Mr. Bagshawe’s arm, 
and begged his attention to the bench. “ Certainly, certainly,” 
said he, hastily wiping his eyes, and turning towards the court. 
“ My sister’s child, gentlemen,” he added appealingly, “ who 
has lived with me from childhood : you will excuse me, I am 
sure ” 

“ There needs no excuse, Mr. Bagshawe,” said the chairman 
kindly ; “but it is necessary this unhappy business should bo 

a 


GUILTY OR NOT G U I L T Y f 




proceeded with. Hand the witness the portion of the letter 
found at Five Oaks. Now, is that your handwriting ; and is it 
a portion of the letter you sent to your nephew, informing him 
of the large sum of money kept for t, particular purpose at Five 
Oaks 
“It is.” 

“ Now,” said the clerk to the magistrates, addressing me 
“ please to produce the articles in your possession.” 

I laid the Spanish coin and the cross upon the table. 

“ Please to look at those two articles, Mr. Bagshawe,” said 
the chairman. “ Now, sir, on your oath, are they a portion of 
the property of which you have been robbed 

The aged gentleman stooped forward and examined theni 
earnestly ; then turned and looked with quivering eyes, if I 
may be allowed the expression, in his nephew’s face ; but re- 
turned no answer lo the question. 

“ It is necessary you should reply. Yes or No, Mr. Bag- 
shawe,” said the clerk. 

“ Answer, uncle,” said the prisoner soothingly : “ fear not for 
me. God and my innocence to aid, I shall yet break through 
the web of villany in which I at present seem hopelessly in- 
volved.” 

“ Bless you, Robert — bless you ! I am sure you will. Yes, 
gentlemen, the cross and coin on the table are part of the prop- 
erty carried off.” 

A smothered groan, indicative of the sorrowing sympathy felt 
for the venerable gentleman, arose from the crowded court on 
hearing this declaration. I then deposed to finding them as 
previously stated. As soon as I concluded, the magistrates con- 
sulted together for a few minutes ; and then the chairman, ad- 
dressing the prisoner, said, “ T have to inform you that the bench 


GUILTY OR NOT GUILTY? 3D 

are agreed that sufficient evidence has been adduced against you 
to warrant them in fully committing you for trial. We are of 
course bound to hear anything you have to say ; but such being 
our intention, your professional adviser will perhaps recommend 
you to reserve whatever defence you have to make for another 
tribunal : here it could not avail you.” 

Mr. Cowan expressed his concurrence in the intimation of the 
magistrate ; but the prisoner vehemently protested against sanc- 
tioning by his silence the accusation preferred against him. 

“ I have nothing to reserve,” he exclaimed with passionate 
energy ; nothing to conceal. I will not owe my acquittal of 
this foul charge to any trick of lawyer-craft. If I may not come 
out of this investigation with an untainted name, I desire not to 
escape at all. The defence, or rather the suggestive facts I 
have to offer for the consideration of the bench are these : — On 
the evening of the day I received my uncle’s letter I Avent to 
Drury Lane theatre, remaining out very late. On my return 
to the hotel, I found I had been robbed of my pocket-book, 
which contained not only that letter, and a considerable sum in 
bank-notes, but papers of great professional importance to me. 
It was too late to adopt any measures for its recovery that night ; 
and the next morning, as I was dressing myself to go out, in 
order to apprise the police authorities of my loss, I Avas informed 
that a gentleman desired to see me instantly on important busi- 
ness. He was shown up, and announced himself to be a detective 
police-officer : the robbery I had sustained had been revealed 
by an accomplice, and it was necessary I should immediately 
accompany him. We left the hotel together ; and after con- 
suming the entire day in perambulating all sorts of by-strects, 
and calling at several suspicious-looking places, my officious 
friend all at once discovered that the thieves had left town for 


36 


GUILTY OR NOT GUILTY: 


the west of England, hoping, doubtless, to reach large town 
and get gold for the notes before the news of their having been 
stopped should have reached it. He insisted upon immediatf, 
pursuit. I wished to return to the hotel for a change of clothes, 
as I was but lightly clad, and night-traveling required warmer 
apparel. This he would not hear of, as the night-coach was on 
the point of starting. He, however, contrived to supply me from 
his own resources with a greatcoat — a sort of policeman’s cape — 
and a rough traveling-cap, which tied under the chin. In due 
time we arrived at Bristol, where I was kept for several days 
loitering about ; till, finally, my guide decamped, and I returned 
to London. An hour after arriving there, T gave information at 
Scotland Yard of what had happened, and afterwards booked 
myself by the night-coach for Kendal. This is all I have to 
>dy. 

This strange story did not produce the slightest effect upon 
the bench, and very little upon the auditory, and yet I felt satis- 
fied it was strictly true. It was not half ingenious enough for a 
made-up story. Mr. Bagshawe, I should have stated, had been 
led out of the justice-hall immediately after he had finished his 
deposition. 

Then, Mr. Bristowe,” said the magistrate’s clerk, “ assum- 
ing this curious narrative to be correct, you will be easily able to 
prove an alibi ?” 

I have thought over that, Mr. Clerk,” returned the prisoner 
mildly, “ and must confess that, remembering how I was dressed 
and wrapped up — that I saw but few persons, and those casually 
and briefly, I have strong misgivings of my power to do so.” 

“ That is perhaps the less to be lamented,” replied the county 
clerk in a sneering tone, “ inasmuch as the possession of those 
articles,” pointing to the cross and coin on the table, “ would 


G tJ I L 1' Y OR NOT G Lr I L T Y 


necessitate anotlicr cc^ually probable, though quite different 
story.” 

“ That is a circuiiistance,” replied the prisoner in the same 
calm tone as before, which I cannot in the slightest manner 
account for,” 

No more was said, and the order for his committal to the 
county jail at Appleby on the charge of wilful murder” was 
given to the clerk. At this moment a hastily-scrawled note 
from Barnes was placed in my hands. I had no sooner glanced 
over it, than I applied to the magistrates for an adjournment til) 
the morrow, on the ground that I could then produce an import- 
ant witness, whose evidence at the trial it was necessary to as- 
sure. The application was, as a matter of course, complied 
A^ith ; the prisoner was remanded till the next day, and the 
court adjourned. 

As I accompanied Mr. Bristowe to the vehicle in waiting 
to convey him to jail, I could not forbear whispering, “ Be 
of good heart, sir, we shall unravel this mystery yet, depend 
upon it.” He looked keenly at me ; and then, without other 
reply than a warm pressure of the hand, jumped into the car- 
riage. 

“ Well, Barnes,” I exclaimed as soon as we were in a room 
by ourselves, and the door closed, “ what is it you have dis- 
covered .^” 

‘‘ That the murdereys of Sarah King are yonder at the Talbot 
where you left me.” 

‘‘ Yes : so I gather from your note. But what evidence have 
you to support your assertion .^” 

“ I'his ! Trusting to my apparent drunken imbecility, they 
j)ceasionally dropped words in my presence which convinced me 
not only that they were the guilty parties, but that they had 


38 


G U L T Y OR NOT G U I L T V r 


come down here to carry off the plate, somewhere concealed in 
the neighborhood. This they mean to do to-night.” 

Anything more 

“ Yes. You know I am a ventriloquist in a- small way, at) 
well as a bit of a mimic : well, I took occasion when that young- 
est of the rascals — the one that sat beside Mr. Bristowe, and got 
out on the top of the coach the second evening, because, freezing 
cold as it was, he said the inside was too hot and close” 

“ Oh, I remember. Dolt that I was, not to recall it befoi*-. 
But go on.” 

“ Well, he and I were alone together in the parlor about three 
hours ago — I dead tipsy as ever — when he suddenly heard the 
voice of Sarah King at his elbow exclaiming, ‘ Who is that in 
the plate closet P If you had seen the start of horror which 
lie gave, the terror which shook his failing limbs as he glanced 
.round the apartment, you would no longer have entertained a 
doubt on the matter ” 

“ This is scarcely judicial proof, Barnes ; but I dare say we 
shall be able to make something of it. You return immediately ; 
about nightfall I will rejoin you in my former disguise.” 

It was early in the evening when I entered the Talbot, and 
seated myself in the parlor. Our three friends were present, 
and so was Barnes. 

“ Is not that fellow sober yet I demanded of one of them. 

“ No ; he has been lying about drinking and snoring ever 
since. He went to bed, I hear, this afternoon ; but he appears 
to be little the better for it.” 

I had an opportunity soon afterwards of speaking to Barnes 
privately, and found that one of the fellows had brought a chaise- 
cart and horse from Kendal, and that all three were to depart in 
about an hour, under pretence of reaching a town about fourteen 


miles distant, where they iiiteiicled to sleep. ]My plan was im- 
mediately taken : 1 returned to the parlor, and watching my 
opportunity, whispered into the ear of the young gentleman 
whose nerves had been so shaken by Barnes’ ventriloquism, and 
who, by the way, was my old acquaintance — Dick Staples, I 
want a word with you in the next room.” I spoke in my nat- 
ural voice, and lifted, for his especial study and edification, the 
wig from my forehead. He was thunder-struck ; and his teeth 
chattered with terror. His two companions were absorbed over 
a low game at cards, and did not observe us. ‘‘ Come,” I con- 
tinued in the same whisper, “ there is not a moment to lose ; if 
you would save yourself, follow me !” He dia so, and I led him 
into an adjoining apartment, closed the door, and drawing a pistol 
from my coat-pocket, said — ‘‘ You perceive. Staples, that the 
game is up : you personated Mr. Bristowe at his uncle’s house 
at Five Oaks, dressed in a precisely similar suit of clothes to 
that which he wears. You murdered the servant” 

“ No — no — no, not I,” gasped the wretch ; “ not I : I did 
not strike her” 

“ At all events you were present, and that, as far as the gal- 
lows is concerned, is the same thing. You also picked that 
gentleman’s pocket during our journey from London, and placed 
one of the stolen Spanish pieces in his purse ; you then went on 
the roof of the coach, and by some ingenious means or other con- 
trived to secrete a cross set with brilliants in his portmanteau.” 

What shall I do — what shall I do screamed the fellow 
half dead with fear, and slipping down on a chair ; “ what shall 
r do to save my life — my life 

First get up and listen. If you are not the actual mui* 
derer” 

“ I am not — upon my soul I am not !” 


40 


GU[LTY or not GUlLTVr 


“ If you arc not, you will probably be admitted king’s evi 
deuce ; though, mind, T make no promises. Now, what is th» 
plan of operations for carrying oft’ the booty 

“ They are going in the chaise-cart almost immediately t( 
take it up : it is hidden in the copse yonder. I am to remain 
here, in order to give an alarm should any suspicion be excited, 
by showing two candles at our bedroom window ; and if all 
keeps right, I am to join them at the cross-roads, about a quarter 
of a mile from hence.” 

“ All right. Now return to the parlor : I will follow you ; 
and remember that on the slightest hint of treachery I will shoot 
you as I would a dog.” 

About a quarter of an hour afterwards his two confederates 
set off in the chaise-cart : I, Barnes, and Staples, cautiously 
followed, the latter handcuffed, and superintended by the ostler 
of the inn, whom I for the nonce pressed into the king’s service. 
The night was pitch dark, fortunately, and the noise of the cart- 
wheels eft’ectually drowned the sound of our footsteps. At length 
the cart stopped ; the men got out, and were soon busily engaged 
in transferring the buried plate to the cart. We cautiously ap- 
proached, and were soon within a yard or two of them, still 
unperceived. 

“ Gret into the cart,’l said one of them to the other, “ and I 
will hand the things up to you.” His companion obeyed, 

“ Hollo !” cried the fellow, “ I thought I told you” 

“ That you are nabbed at last !” I exclaimed, tripping him 
suddenly up. “ Barnes, hold the horse’s head. Now, sir, at- 
tempt to budge an inch out of that cart, and I’ll send a bullet 
through your brains.” The surprise was complete ; and so 
terror-stricken were they, that neither resistance nor escape was 
attempted. They were soon handcuffed and otherwise secured ; 


GUILTY OR NOT GUILTY? 


41 


the remainder of the plate was placed in the cart ; and we made 
the best of our way to Kendal jail, where I had the honor of 
lodging them at about nine o’clock in the evening. The news 
late as it was, spread like wild-fire, and innumerable were the 
congratulations which awaited me when I’ reached the inn where 
I lodged. But that which recompensed me a thousandfold for 
what I had done, was the fervent embrace in which the white- 
haired uncle, risen from his bed to assure himself of the truth 
of the news, locked me, as he called down blessings from Heaven 
upon my head ! There are blessed moments even in the life of 
a police-officer. 

Mr. Bristowe was of course liberated on the following morn- 
ing ; Staples was admitted^ing’s evidence ; and one of his 
accomplices — the actual murderer — was hanged, the other 
transported. A considerable portion of the property was also 
recovered. The gentleman who — to give time and opportunity 
for the perpetration of the burglary, suggested by the perusal 
of Mr. Bagshawe’s letter — induced Mr. Bristowe to accompany 
him to Bristol, was soon afterwards, transported for anotliei 
offence 


III. 


X. Y. Z. 

The following advertisement appeared in several of the Lou- 
don journals in the year 1832 : — “ If Owen Lloyd, a native of 
Wales, and who, it is believed, resided for many years in Lon- 
don as clerk in a large mercantile establishment, will forward 
his present address to X. Y. Z., Post-Ofl&ce, St. Martin ’s-le- 
Grand, to be left till called for, l:^vill hear of something greatly 
to his advantage.” 

My attention had been attracted to this notice by its very fre- 
quent appearance in the journal which I was chiefly in the habit 
of reading, and, from professional habits of thinking, I had set 
it down in my own mind as a trap for some offender against the 
principles of rmiim and tuunij whose presence in a criminal court 
was very earnestly desired. I was conflrmed in this conjecture 
by observing that, in despair of Owen Lloyd’s voluntary dis- 
closure of his retreat, a reward of fifty guineas, payable by a re- 
spectable solicitor of Lothbury, was ultimately offered to any 
person who would furnish X. Y. Z. with the missing man’s 
address. “ An old bird,” I mentally exclaimed on perusing 
this paragraph, ‘‘ and not to be caught with chaflT ; that is 
evident.” Still more to excite my curiosity, and at the same 
time bring the matter within the scope of my own particular 
•functions, I found, on taking up the “ Police Gazette,.” a re- 
ward of thirty guineas offered for the apprehension of Owen 
Lloyd, whose person and manners were minutely described 


X . Y . 2 . 


43 


“ The pursuit grows hot,’^ thought I, throwing down the paper, 
and hastening to attend a summons just brought mo from tlie 
superintendent ; “ and il‘ Owen Lloyd is still within the four 
seas, his chance of escape seems but a poor one,” 

On waiting on the superintendent, I was directed to put my- 
self in immediate personal communication with a Mr. Smith, 
the head of an eminent wholesale house in the City. 

“ In the City !” 

“ Yes ; but your business with Mr. Smith is relative to the 
extensive robbery at his West-end residence a week or two ago. 
The necessary warrants for the apprehension of the suspected 
parties have been, I understand, obtained, and on your return 
will, together with some neoessary memoranda, be placed in 
your hands.” 

I at once proceeded to my destination, and on my arrival, was 
immediately ushered into a dingy back-room, where I was desired 
to wait till Mr. Smith, who was just then busily engaged, could 
speak to me. Casting my eyes over a table, near which the 
clerk had placed me a chair, I perceived a newspaper and the 
“ Police Grazette,” in both of which the advertisements for the 
discovery of Owen Lloyd were strongly underlined. ‘‘ Oh, ho,” 
thought I ; “ Mr. Smith, then, is the X. Y. Z, who is so ex- 
tremely anxious to renew his acquaintance with Mr. Owen 
Lloyd ; and I am the honored individual selected to bring about 
the desired interview. Well, it is in my new vocation — one 
which can scarcely be dispensed with, it seems, in this busy 
scheming life of ours.” 

Mr. Smith did not keep me waiting long. He seemed a hard, 
shrewd, business man, whose still wiry frame, brisk, active gait 
and manner, and clear, decisive eye, indicated — though the 
snows of more than sixty winters had passed over his head — a 


44 


X . Y . Z . 


vigorous life, of which the morning and the noon had been 
spent in the successful pursuit of wealth and its accompaniment 
— social consideration and influence. 

‘‘ You have, I suppose, read the advertisements marked on 
these papers 

“ I have, and of course conclude that you, sir, are 

X. Y Z.” 

‘‘ Of course, conclusions,” rejoined Mr. Smith with a quite 
perceptible sneer, “ are usually very silly ones : in this instance 
especially so. My name, you ought to be aware, is Smith : 
X. Y. Z., whoever he may be, I expect in a few minutes. In 
just seventeen minutes,” added the exact man of business ; 
“ for I, by letter, appointed him to meet me here at one o’clock 
precisely. My motive in seeking an interview with him, it is 
proper I should tell you, is the probability that he, like myself, 
is a sufferer by Owen Lloyd, and may not therefore object to 
defray a fair share of the cost likely to be incurred in unkennel- 
ing the delinquent, and prosecuting him to conviction ; or, which 
would be far better, he may be in possession of information that 
will enable us to obtain completely the clue I already almost 
grasp. But we must be cautious : X. Y. Z. may be a relative 
or friend of Lloyd’s, and in that case, to possess him of our 
plans would answer no purpose but to afford him an opportunity 
of baffling them. Thus much premised, I had better at once 
proceed to read over to you a few particulars I have jotted 
down, which, you will perceive, throw light and color over the 
suspicions I have been within these few days compelled to enter- 
tain. You are doubtless acquainted with the full particulars of 
the robbery at my residence. Brook Street, last Thursday 
fortnight 

“ Yes ; especially the report of the. officers, that the crime 


X . T . Z 


4ft 


niu»t have been committed by persons familiar with the premises 
and the general habits of the family.” 

Precisely. Now, have you your memorandum-book ready 
“ Quite so.” 

“ You had better write with ink,” said Mr. Smith, pushing 
an inkstand and pens towards me. ‘‘ Important memoranda 
should never, where there is a possibility of avoiding it, bo 
written in pencil. Friction, thumbing, use of any kind, often 
partially obliterates them, creating endless confusion and mis- 
takes. Are you ready .^” 

‘‘ Perfectly.” 

Owen Lloyd, a native of Wales, and, it was understood, 
descended from a highly-respectable family there. About five 
feet eight ; but I need not describe his person ov^ again. 
Many years with us, first as junior, then as head clerk ; during 
which his conduct, as regards the firm, was exemplary. A man 
of yielding, irresolute mind — if indeed a person can be said to 
really possess a mind at all who is always changing it for some 
other person’s — incapable of saying “ No” to embarrassing, 
impoverishing requests — one, in short, Mr. Waters, of that 
numerous class of individuals whom fools say are nobody’s 

enemies but their own, as if that were possible” 

“ I understand ; but I really do not see how this bears 
upon” 

‘‘ The mission you are directed to undertake ? I think it 
does, as you will presently see. Three years ago, Owen Lloyd 
having involved himself, in consequence of the serious defect of 
character I have indicated, in large liabilities tor pretended 
friends, left our employment ; and to avoid a jail, fled, no one 
3ould discover whither. Edward Jones, also a native of the 
principality, whose description, as well as that of his wife, you 


4f 


X . r . z . 


vdll receive from the superintendent, was discharged about seven 
years since from our service for misconduct, and went, we un- 
derstood, to America. He always appeared to possess great 
iufluence over the mind of his considerably younger countryman 
Lloyd. Jones and his wife were seen three evenings since by 
one of our clerks near Temple Bar. I am of opinion, Mr. 
Waters,” continued Mr. Smith, removing his spectacles, and 
closing the note-book, from which he had been reading, “ that 
it is only the first step in crime, or criminal imprudence, which 
feeble-minded men especially long hesitate or boggle at ; and I 
now more than suspect that, pressed by poverty, and very pos- 
sibly yielding to the persuasions and example of J ones — who, by 
the way, was as well acquainted with the premises in Brook 
Street as his fellow-clerk — the once honest, ductile Owen Lloyd, 
is now" a common thief and burglar.” 

Indeed !” 

“ Yes. A more minute search led to the discovery, the day 
hclbro yesterday, of a pocket-book behind some book-shelves in 
the library. As no property had been taken from that room — 
though the lock of a large iron chest, containing coins and 
medals, had been evidently tampered with — the search there 
was not at first very rigorous. That pocket-book — here it is — 
belonged, I know, to Owen Lloyd when in our service. See, 
here are his initials stamped on the cover.” 

“ Might he not have inadvertently left it there when with 
you .^” 

“You will scarcely think so after reading the date of the five- 
pound note of the Hampshire County Bank, which you will find 
within the inner lining.” 

“ The dat? is 1831.” 

“ Exactly I have also strong reason for believing tliat 


X . Y . Z . 


47 


r* 

Owen Lloyd is now, or has been lately, residing in some part of 
Hampshire.” 

“ That is important.” 

“ This letter,” continued Mr. Smith ; and then pausing for 
a brief space in some embarrassment, he added — “ The com- 
missioner informed me, Mr. Waters, that you were a person 
upon whose good sense and discretion^ as well as sagacity and 
courage, every confidence might he placed. I therefore feel less 
difficulty than I otherwise should in admitting you a little behind 
the family screen, and entering with you upon matters one would 
not willingly have bruited in the public ear.” 

I bowed, and he presently proceeded. 

“ Owen Lloyd, I should tell you, is married to a very amiable, 
superior sort of woman, and has one child, a daughter named 
Caroline, an elegant, gentle-mannered, beautiful girl I admit, to 
whom my wife was much attached, and she was consequently a 
frequent visitor in Brook Street. This I always felt was very 
imprudent ; and the result was, that my son Arthur Smith — 
only about two years her senior ; she was just turned of seven- 
teen when her father was compelled to fly from his creditors — 
formed a silly, boyish attachment for her. They have since, I 
gather from this letter, which I found yesterday in Arthur’s 
dressing-room, carried on, at Tong intervals, a clandestine corres- 
pondence, waiting for the advent of more propitious times — 
which, being interpreted,” added Mr. Smith with a sardonic 
sneer, ‘‘ means of course my death and burial.” 

“ You are in possession, then, if Miss Caroline Lloyd is 
living with her father, of his precise place of abode .?” 

Not exactly The correspondence is, it seems, carried on 
without the knowledge of Owen Idoyd ; and the girl states in 
answer, it should seem, to Arthur’s inquiries, that her father 

4 


48 


X . y . z . 


would never forgive her if, under present circumstances, she 
disclosed his place of residence — we can now very well under- 
stand that — and she intreats Arthur not to persist, at least for 
the present, in his attemj to discover her. My son, you must 
understand, is now of age, and so far as fortune is concerned, is, 
thanks to a legacy from an aunt on his mother’s side, inde- 
pendent of me.” 

“ What post-mark does the letter bear 

“ Charing-Gross. Miss Lloyd states that it will be posted in 
London by a friend ; that friend being, I nothing doubt, her 
father’s confederate, Jones. But to us the most important part 
of the epistle is the following line : — ‘ My father met with a sad 
accident in the forest some time ago, but is now quite re- 
covered.’ The words in the forest have, you see, been written 
over, but not so entirely as to prevent their being, with a little 
trouble, traced. Now, coupling this expression with the Hamp- 
shire bank-note, I am of opinion that Lloyd is concealed some- 
where in the New Forest.” 

‘‘ A shrewd guess, at all events.” 

“ You now perceive what weighty motives I have to bring 
this man to justice. The property carried off T care little com- 
paratively about ; but the intercourse between tlie girl and my 
son must at any cost be terminated ” 

He was interrupted by a clerk, who entered to say that Mr 
William Lloyd, the gentleman who had advertised as “ X. Y 
Z.” desired to speak to him. Mr. Smith directed Mr. Lloyd k 
be shewn in ; and then, snatching up the “ Police Hazette,’ 
and thrusting it into one of the table-drawers, said in a lo\i 
7oice, but marked emphasis, “ A relative, no lou])t, by the 
^ame : be silent, and be watchful.” 

A. minuk afterwards Mr. Lloyd was ushered into tlie room. 


X. T . Z . 


49 


f 

Up was a thin, emaciated, and apparently sorrow-stricken man, 
on the wintry side of middle age, but of mild, courteous, gentle- 
manly speech and manners. He was evidently nervous and 
agitated, and after a word or two of customary salutation, said 
hastily, “ I gather from this note, sir, that you can afford me 
tidings of my long-lost brother Owen : where is he He 

looked eagerly round the apartment, gazed with curious earnest- 
ness in my face, and then again turned with tremulous anxiety to 
Mr. Smith. “ Is he dead ? Pray do not keep me in suspense.” 

‘‘ Sit down, sir,” said Mr. Smith, pointing to a chair. ‘‘ Your 
brother, Owen Lloyd, was for many years a clerk in this estab- 
lishment” — 

“ Was — was .'” interrupted Mr. Lloyd with greatly-increased 
agitation : “ not now, then — he has left you .^” 

“ For upwards of three years. A few days ago — pray do not 
interrupt me — I obtained intelligence of him, which, with such 
assistance as you may possibly be able to afford, will perhaps 
suffice to enable this gentleman” — pointing to me — “ to discover 
his present residence.” 

“ I could not stand the look which Mr. Lloyd fixed upon me, 
and turned hastily away to gaze out of the window, as if at- 
tracted by the noise of a squabble between two draymen, which 
fortunately broke out at the moment in the narrow, choked-up 
street. 

“ For what purpose, sir, are you instituting this eager search 

after my brother ? It cannot be that No, no — he has 

eft you, you say, more than three years : besides, the bare sup- 
position is as wicked as absurd.” 

“ The truth is, Mr. Lloyd,” rejoined Mr. Smith after a 
few moments’ reflection, “ there is great danger that my son 
may disadvantageously connect himself with your- — with your 


50 


Y Z . 


X . 


brother’s family — may, in fact, marry his aangiiter Caroline 

Now I could easily convince Owen” 

“ Caroline !” interjected Mr. Lloyd with a tremulous accent, 
and his dim eyes suffused with tears — “ Caroline ! — ay, truly 
he,r daughter would be named Caroline.” An instant after, he 
added, drawing himself up with an air of pride and some stern- 
ness : “ Caroline Lloyd, sir, is a person who, by birth, and, I 
loubt not, character and attainments, is a fitting match for the 
son of the proudest merchant of this proud city.” 

“Very likely,” rejoined Mr. Smith dryly; “but you must 
excuse me for saying that, as regards my son, it is one which I 
will at any cost prevent.” 

“ How am I to know,” observed Mr, Lloyd, whose glance ol 
pride had quickly passed away, “ that you are dealing fairly and 
candidly with me in the matter 

In reply to this home-thrust, Mr. Smith placed the letter ad- 
dressed by Miss Lloyd to his son in the hands of the questioner, 
at the same time explaining how he had obtained it. 

Mr. Lloyd’s hands trembled, and his tears fell fast over the 
letter as he hurriedly perused it. It seemed by his broken, in- 
voluntary ejaculations, that old thoughts and memories were 
deeply stirred within him. “ Poor girl ! — so' young, so gentle 
and so sorely tried ! Her mother’s very turn of thought and 
phrase. Owen, too, artless, honorable, just as he was ever, 
except when the dupe of knaves and villains.” 

He seemed buried in thought for some time after the perusal 
of the letter ; and Mr. Smith, whose cue it was to avoid exciting 
suspicion by too great eagerness of speech, was growing fidgetty. 
At length, suddenly looking up, he said in a dejected tone, “ If 
this is all you have ascertained, we seem as far oflf aa ever. 1 
can afford you no help.” 


X . y . z 


51 


“ I am not sure of that,” replied Mr. Smith. “ Let us look 
calmly at the matter. Your brother is evidently not living in 
London, and that accounts for your advertisements not being 
answered.” 

“ Truly.” 

“ If you look at the letter attentively, you will perceive that 
three important words, ‘ in the forest,’ have been partially 
erased.” 

“ Yes, it is indeed so ; but what” 

“ Now, is there no particular locality in the country to which 
your brother would be likely to betake himself in preference to 
another ? Gentlemen of fancy and sentiment,” added Mr. 
Smith, “ usually fall back, I have heard, upon some favorite 
haunt of early days when pressed by adversity.” 

“ It is natural they should,” replied Mr. Lloyd, heedless of 
the sneer. “ I have felt that longing for old haunts and old 
faces in intensest force, even when I was what the world calls 

prospering in strange lands ; and how much more But 

no ; he would not return to Wales — to Caermarthen — to be 
looked down upon by those amongst whom our family for so 
many generations stood equal with the highest. Besides, I have 
personally sought him there — in vain.” 

“ But his wife — she is not a native of the principality .?” 

“ No. Ah ! I remember. The forest ! It must be so ! 
Caroline Hey worth, whom we fii'st met in the Isle of Wight, is 
a native of Beaulieu, a village in the New Forest, Hampshire. 
A small, very small property thei-e, bequeathed by an uncle, 
elonged to her, and perhaps has not been disposed of How 
came I not to think of this before ? I will set out at once — and 
yet pressing business requhes my stay here for a day or 
two ” 


52 


X . T . Z . 


“ This gentleman, Mr. Waters, can proceed to Beaulieu 
immediately.” 

“ That must do then. You will call on me, Mr. Waters- - 
here is my address — before you leave town. Thank you. And 
God bless you, sir,” he added, suddenly seizing Mr. Smith’s 
hand, “ for the light you have thrown upon this wearying, and, 
I feared, hopeless search. You need not be so anxious, sir, to 
send a special messenger to release your son from his promise 
of marriage to my niece. None of us, be assured, will be 
desirous of forcing her upon a reluctant family.” He then 
bowed, and vdthdrew. 

Mr. Waters,” said Mr. Smith with a good deal of stern 
ness, as soon as we were alone, “ I expect that no sentimental 
crotchet will prevent your doing your duty in this matter .?” 

“ What right,” I answered with some heat, “ have you, sir, 
to make such an insinuation .?” 

‘‘ Because I perceived, by your manner, that you disapproved 
my questioning Mr. Lloyd as to the likeliest mode of securing 
his brother.” 

“ My manner but interpreted my thoughts : still, sir, I know 
what belongs to my duty, and shall perform it.” 

“ Enough : I have nothing more to say.” 

I drew on my gloves, took up my hat, and was leaving th< 
room, when Mr. Smith exclaimed, “ Stay one moment, Mr 
Waters : you see that my great object is to break off the con 
nection between my son and Miss Lloyd .?” 

“ I do.” 

“ I am not anxious, you will remember, to press the prosecu- 
tion i/, hy a frank written confession of his guilty Owen Lloyd 
places an insuperable bar between his child and mine. You 
understand :” 


X . Y . Z . 


53 


“ Perfectly. But permit me to observe, that the duty you 
just now hinted I might hesitate to perform, will not permit me 
to be a party to any such transaction. Good-day.” 

I waited on Mr. William Lloyd soon afterwards, and listened 
with painful interest to the brief history which he, with child- 
like simplicity, narrated of his own and brother’s fortunes. It 
was a sad, oft-told tale. They had been early left orphans j 
and deprived of judicious guidance, had run — William more 
especially — a wild career of dissipation, till all was gone. Just 
before the crash came, they had both fallen in love with the 
same woman, Caroline Heyworth, who had preferred the meeker, 
more gentle-hearted Owen, to his elder brother. They parted 
in anger. Williain obtained a situation as bailiff and overseer 
of an estate in Jamaica, where, by many years of toil, good 
fortune, and economy, he at length ruined his health and re- 
stored his fortunes ; and was now returned to die rich in his 
native country ; and, as he had till an hour before feared, un- 
lamented and untended save by hirelings. I promised to write 
immediately I had seen his brother ; and with a sorrowful heart 
took leave of the vainly-rejoicing, prematurely-aged man. 

I arrived at Southampton by the night-coach — the railway 
was but just begun, I remember — and was informed that the 
best mode of reaching Beaulieu — Bewley, they pronounced it — 
was by crossing the Southampton river to the village of Hythe, 
which was but a few miles distance from Beaulieu. x\s soon as 
I had breakfasted, I hastened to the quay, and was soon speed- 
ing across the tranquil waters in one of the sharp- stemmed 
wherries which plied constantly between the shores. My atten- 
tion was soon arrested by two figures in the stern of the boat, a 
man and^'woman. A slight examination of their features suf&ced 
to convince me that they were Jones and his wife. Thej 


54 


X . Y . 2 . 


evidently entertained no suspicion of pursuit ; and as I heard 
them tell the boatmen they were going on to Bewley^ I deter- 
mined for the present not to disturb their fancied security. It 
was fortunate I did so. As soon as we had landed, they passed 
into a mean-looking dwelling, which, from some nets, and a boat 
under repair, in a small yard in front of it, I concluded to be a 
fisherman’s. As no vehicle could be readily procured, I deter- 
mined on walking on, and easily reached Beaulieu, which is 
charmingly situated just within the skirts of the New Forest, 
about twelve o’clock. After partaking of a slight repast at the 
principal inn of the place — I forget its name ; but it was, I 
remember, within a stone ’s-throw of the celebrated Beaulieu 
Abbey ruins — I easily contrived, by a few careless, indirect 
questions, to elicit all the information I required of the loqua- 
cious waiting-maid. Mr. Lloyd, who seemed to bear an excel- 
lent character, lived, I was informed, at a cottage about half a 
mile distant from the inn, and chiefly supported himself as a 
measurer of timber — beech and ash : a small stock — the oak was 
reserved for government purposes — he usually kept on hand. 
Miss Caroline, the girl said, did beautiful fancy-work ; and a 
group of flowers painted by her, as natural as life, was framed 
and glazed in the bar, if I would like to see it. Upon the right 
track sure enough ! Mr. Lloyd, there could be no longer a 
doubt, had unconsciously betrayed his unfortunate, guilty 
brother into the hands of justice, and T, an agent of the iron 
law, was already upon the threshold of his hiding-place ! I felt 
0 pleasure at the success of the scheme. To have bravely and 
honestly stood up against an adverse fate for so many years, only 
to fall into crime just as fortune had grown weary of persecuting 
him, and a long-estranged brother had returned to rais9 him and 
his to their former position in society, was melancholy indeed ’ 


And the young woman too, whose letter breathed so pure, so 
gentle, so patient a spirit ! — it would not bear thinking about — 
and I resolutely strove to look upon the affair as one of everyday 
routine. It would not do, however ; and I was about to quit 
the room in no very enviable frame of mind, when my boat com- 
panions, Mr. and Mrs. Jones, entered, and seated themselves at 
one of the tables. The apartment was rather a large one, and 
as I was seated in the corner of a box at some distance from the 
entrance, they did not at first observe me ; and several words 
caught my ear which awakened a strong desire to hear more. 
That I might do so, I instantly adopted a very common, but 
not the less often very successful device. As soon as the new- 
comers perceived me, their whispered colloquy stopped abruptly , 
and after a minute or so, the man said, looking hard at me, 
‘‘ Grood-day, sir ; you have had rather a long walk and he 
glanced at my dusty boots. 

“ Sir,” I replied, enclosing my left ear with my hand in tno 
manner of a natural ear-trumpet, “ did you speak 

“ A dusty walk,” he rejoined in a voice that might have been 
heard in a hurricane or across Fleet Street. 

“One o’clock!” I replied, pulling out my watch. “No; 
it wants a quarter yet.” 

“Deaf as the Monument,” said Jones to his companion. 
“ All right.” 

The suspended dialogue was but partially resumed. 

“ Do you think,” said the woman, after the lapse of about 
five minutes — “ do you think Owen and his family will go with 
us I hope not.” 

“ Not he : J only asked him just for the say-so of the thing. 
He is too chicken-hearted for that, or for anything else that 
requires pluck.” 


X Y . Z 


00 


Finishing the spirits and water they had ordered, they soon 
afterwards went out. I followed. 

As soon as we had gone about a hundred paces from the 
house, I said, ‘‘ Pray can you tG^l me which is Mr. Lloyd the 
beech-merchant’s house 

“ Yes,” replied the man, takii g hold of my arm, and halloo- 
ing into my ear with a power sufficient to really deafen one for 
life ; “ we are going there to dine.” 

I nodded comprehension, and on we journeyed. We were 
met at the door by Owen Lloyd himsclf-^-a man in whose coun- 
tenance guilelessness, even to simplicity, seemed stamped by 
nature’s own true hand. So much, thought I, for the reliance 
to be placed on physiognomy ! “I have brought you a cus- 
tomer,” said Mr. Jones ; “ but he is as deaf as a stone.” I 
was courteously invited in by signs ; and with much hallooing 
and shouting, it was finally settled that, after dinner, I should 
look over Mr. Lloyd’s stock of wood. Dinner had just been 
placed on the table by Mrs. Lloyd and her daughter. A still 
very comely, interesting woman was Mrs. Lloyd, though time 
and sorrow had long since set their unmistakeable seals upon 
her. Her daughter was, I thought, one of the most charming, 
graceful young women I had ever seen, spite of the tinge of sad- 
ness which dwelt upon her sweet face, deepening its interest if 
it somewhat diminished its beauty. My heart ached to think of 
the misery the announcement of my errand must presently 
bring on such gentle beings — innocent, I felt confident, even of 
the knowledge of the crime that had been committed. I dreaded 
to begin — not. Heaven knows, from any fear of the men, who, 
compared with nle, were poor, feeble creatures, and I could 
easily have mastered half-a-dozen such ; but the females — that 
young girl especially — how encounter thdr despair } I mutely 


X . T . Z . 


57 


declined dinner, but accepted a glass of ale, and sat down till I 
could muster sufficient resolution for the performance of my tusk ; 
for I felt this was an opportunit}^ of quietly effecting the captuj’e 
of both the suspected criminals which must not be neglected. 

Dinner was just over when Mrs. Lloyd said, “ Oh, Mr 
Jones, have you seen anything of my husband’s pocket-book . 
[t was on a shelf in the room where you slept — not the last 
time, but when you were here about three weeks ago. We can 
find it nowhere ; and I thought you might possibly have taken 
it by mistake.” 

“ A black, common-looking thing said Jones. 

“ Yes.” 

“ I did take it by mistake. I found it in one of my parcels, 
and put it in my pocket, intending of course to return it when I 
came back ; but I remember, when wanting to open a lock of 
which I had lost the key, taking it out to see if it contained a 
pencil-case which I thought might answer the purpose ; and 
finding none, tossing it away in a pet, I could not afterwards 
find it.” 

“ Then it is lost 

“ Yes ; but what of that r There was nothing in it.” 

“You are mistaken,” rejoined Owen; “there was a five- 

pound country note in it, and the loss will What is the 

matter, friend .^” 

I had sprung upon my feet with uncontrollable emotion : Mr 
Lloyd’s observation recalled me to myself, and I sat down again, 
muttering something about a sudden pain in the side. 

“ Oh, if that’s the case,” said Jones, “ I’ll make it up will- 
ingly. I am pretty rich, you know, just now.” 

“ We shnll be much obliged to you,” said Mrs Lloyd ; “ its 
loss would be a sad blow to us ” 


58 


X . Y . Z . 


“ How came you to send those heavy boxes here, Jones ?” 
said Owen Lloyd. ‘‘ Would it not have been better to have 
sent them direct to Portsmouth, where the vessel calls 

“ I had not quite made up my mind to return to America 
then ; and I knew they would be safer here than anywhere 
else.” 

“ When do you mean to take them away ? We are so badJy 
off for room, that they terribly hamper us.” 

This evening, about nine o’clock. I have hired a smack at 
Hythe to take us, bag and baggage, down the river to meet the 
liner which calls off Portsmouth to-morrow. I wish we could 
persuade you to go with us.” 

“ Thank you, Jones,” replied Owen in a dejected tone. “ I 
have very little to hope for here ; still my heart clings to the old 
country.” 

I had heard enough ; and hastily rising, intimated a wish to 
look at the timber at once. Mr. Lloyd immediately rose, and 
J ones and his wife left the cottage to return to Hythe at the 
same time that we did. I marked a few pieces of timber, and 
promising to send for them in the morning, hastened away. 

A mountain seemed removed from off my breast ; I felt as if 
I had achieved a great personal deliverance. Truly a wonder- 
ful interposition of Providence, I thought, that has so signally 
averted the fatal consequences likely to have resulted from the 
thoughtless imprudence of Owen Lloyd, in allowing his house to 
be made, however innocently, a receptacle for stolen goods, at 
the solicitations, too, of a man whose character he knew to be 
none of the purest. He had had a narrow escape, and might 
with perfect truth exclaim — 


There’s a Divinity hat shapes our ends, 
Rough-hew them 1 dw we will.” 


X . Y . Z . 


59 


The Warrants of* which I was the hearer, the London police 
authorities had taken care to get indorsed by a magistrate of the 
county of Hampshire, who happened to be in London, so that I 
found no difficulty in arranging effectually for the capture and 
safe custody of J ones and his assistants when he came to fetch 
his booty. 

I had just returned to the Beaulieu inn, after completing my 
arrangements, when a carriage drove .furiously up to the door, 
and who should, to my utter astonishment, alight, but Mr. Wil- 
liam Lloyd, and Messrs. Smith, father and son. I hastened out, 
and briefly enjoining caution and silence, begged them to step 
with me into a private room. The agitation of Mr. Lloyd and 
of Mr. Arthur Smith was extreme, but Mr. Smith appeared cold 
and impassive as ever. I soon ascertained that Arthur Smith, 
by his mother’s assistance, I suspect, had early penetrated his 
father’s schemes and secrets, and had, in consequence, caused 
Mr. William Lloyd to be watched home, with whom, immedi- 
ately after I had left, he had a long conference. Later in the 
evening an edaircissemmt with the father took place ; and after 
a long and stormy discussion, it was resolved that all three 
ffiould the next morning post down to Beaulieu, and act as cir- 
cumstances might suggest. My story was soon told. It was re- 
ceived of course with unbounded joy by the brother and the 
lover ; and even through the father’s apparent indifierence I 
could perceive that his refusal to participate in the general joy 
would hot be of long duration. The large fortune which Mr 
William Lloyd intimated his intention to bestow upon his niece 
was a new and softening element in the affair. 

Mr. Smith, senior, ordered his dinner ; and Mr. Lloyd and 
Arthur Smith — but wh}- need I attempt to relate what they did ? 
I only know that when., a long time afterwards, I ventured to 


m 


X . t . a . 


look in at, Mi-. Owen Lloyd’s cottage, all the five inmates — 
brother, uncle, lover, niece, and wife — were talking, laughing, 
weeping, smiling, like distracted creatures, and seemed utterly 
incapable of reasonable discourse. An hour after that, as I stood 
screened by a belt of forest-trees in wait for IMr. Jones and com- 
pany, I noticed, as they all strolled past me in the clear moon- 
light, that the tears, the agitation had passed away, leaving only 
smiles and grateful joy on the glad faces so lately clouded by 
anxiety and sorrow. A mighty change in so brief a space ! 

Mr. Jones arrived with his cart and helpers in due time. A 
man who sometimes assisted in the timber-yard Was deputed, 
with an apology for the absence of Mr. Lloyd, to deliver the 
goods. The boxes, full of plate and other valuables, were soon 
hoisted in, and the cart moved off. I let it proceed about a 
mile, and then, with the help I had placed in readiness, easily 
secured the astounded burglar and his assistants ; and early the 
n6xt morning Jones was on his road to London. He was tried 
at the ensuing Old-Bailey sessions, convicted, and transported 
for life ; and the discretion I had exercised in not executing the 
warrant against Owen Lloyd was decidedly approved of by the 
authorities. 

It was about two months after my first interview with Mr. 
Smith that, on returning home one evening, my wife placed be- 
fore me a piece of bride-cake, and two beautifully-engraved cards 
united with white satin ribbon, bearing the names of Mr. and 
Mrs. Arthur Smith. I was more gratified by this little act of 
courtesy for Emily’s sake, as those who have temporarily fallen 
from a certain position in society will easily understand, than I 
should have been by the costliest present. The service I 
rendered was purely accidental : it has nevertheless been always 
kindly remembered by all parties whom it so critically servt d 


f i} H I J). 

THE WIDOW. 

In the winter of 1833 I was liurriedlj, and. as I at the time 
could not help thinking, precipitately despatc ned to Guernsey, 
one of the largest of the islands which dot the British Channel, 
in quest of a gentleman of, till then, high character on the Stock 
Exchange, who, it was alleged, had absconded with a very large 
sum of money intrusted to him for investment by a baronet ol’ 
considerable influence in official quarters. From certain circum- 
stances, it was surmised that Guernsey would be his first hiding- 
place, and I was obliged to post all the way to Weymouth in 
order to save the mail packet, which left that j^lace on the 
.'viturday evening, or night rather, with the Channel-Island 

mails. Mr had gone, it was conjectured, by way of 

Southampton. My search, promptly and zealously as I was 
aided by the Guernsey authorities, proving vain, I determined on 
going on to Jersey, when a letter an-ived by post informing me 
that the person of whom I was in pursuit had either not intended 
to defraud his client, or that his heart had failed him at the 
threshold of crime. A few hours after I had left London he 
had reappeared, it seems, in his counting-house, after having a 
few minutes previously effected the investment of the money in 
accordance with his client’s instructions, and was now, through 
Ids attorney, threatening the accuser and all his aiders and 
abettors willi the agreeable processes that in England usually 
follow shar])lv at the heels of such rasl and hasty proceedings 



62 


THE WIDOW. 


My mission over, I proposed to retrace my steps immediately 
but unfortunately found myself detained in tbe island for nearlj 
a week by the hurricane-weather which suddenly set in, render- 
ing it impossible for the mail or other st iam-packets to cross the 
Channel during its continuance. Time limped slowly and 
heavily away ; and frequently, in my impatience to be gone, I 
pralked down to the bleak pier, and strained my eyes in the 
direction in which the steamer from Jersey should appear. 
Almost every time I did so I encountered two persons, who, I 
could see, were even more impatient to be gone than myself, 
and probably, I thought, with much more reason. They were 
a widow not certainly more than thirty years of age, and 

her son, a fine erndy-haired boy, about eight or nine years old, 
whose natural light-heartedness appeared to be checked, sub- 
dued, by the deep grief and sadness which trembled in his 
mothers fine expressive eyes, and shrouded her pale but hand- 
some face. He held her by the hand ; often clasping it with 
both his tiny ones, and looking up to her as she turned despond- 
ingly away from the vacant roadstead and raging waters, with a 
half-frightened half -wondering expression of anxious love, which 
would frequently cause his mother to bend down, and hurriedly 
strive to kiss away the sorrowful alarm depicted in the child’s 
face. These two beings strangely interested me ; chiefly per- 
haps because, in my compelled idleness, I had little else except 
the obstinate and <ingry weather to engage my attention or oc- 
cupy my thoughts. There was an unmistakable air of ‘ better 
days’ about the widow — a grace of manner which her somewhat 
faded and unseasonable raiment rendered but the more striking 
and apparent. Her countenance, one perceived at the first 
glance, was of remarkable comeliness ; and upon one occasion 
that I had an opportunity of observing it, I was satisfied that. 


THE WIDOW. 


63 


under happier influences than now appeared to overshadow her, 
those pale interesting features would light up into beauty as 
brilliant as it was refined and intellectual. 

This introduces another walking mystery, which, for want of 
something better to do, I was conjuring out of my fellow-watch- 
ers on the pier. He was a stoutLsh, strongly-set man of forty 
years of age, perhaps scarcely so much, showily dressed in new 
glossy clothes ; French-varnished boots, thin-soled enough, win- 
ter as it was, for a drawing-room ; hat of the latest gent fashion ; 
a variegated satin cravat, fastened by two enormous-headed gold 
pins, connected with a chain ; and a heavy gold chain fastened 
from his watch waistcoat-pocket over his neck. The com- 
plexion of his face was a cadaverous white, liberally sprinkled 
and relieved with gin and brandy blossoms, whilst the coarseness 
of his not overly-clean hands was with singular taste set off and 
displayed by some half-dozen glittering rings. I felt a growing 
conviction, especially on noticing a sudden change in the usual 
cunning, impudent, leering expression of his eyes, as he caught 
me looking at him with some earnestness, that I had somewhere 
had the honor of a previous introduction to him. That he had 
not been, lately at all events, used to such resplendent habili- 
ments as he now sported, was abundantly evident from his nu- 
merous smirking self-surveys as he strutted jauntily along, and 
frequently stopping before shops that, having mirrors in their 
windows, aflbrded a more complete view of his charming person. 
This creature I was convinced was in some way or other con- 
nected, or at any rate acquainted, with the young and graceful 
widow. He was constantly dogging her steps ; and I noticed 
with surprise, and some little irritation, that his vulgar bow was 
faintly returned by the lady as they passed each other ; ano 

that her recognition of him, slight o' d distant as it was, was no* 
5 


64 


THE WIDOW. 


unfrequently accompanied by a blush, whether arising from a 
pleasurable emotion or the reverse, I could not for some time 
determine. There is a mystery about blushes, I was, and am 
quite aware, not easily penetrable, more especially about those 
of widows. I was soon enlightened upon that point. One day, 
when she happened to be standing alone on the pier — her little 
boy was gazing through a telescope I had borrowed of the land- 
lord of the hotel where I lodged — he approached, and before 
she was well aware of his intention, took her hand, uttering at 
the same time, it seemed, some words of compliment. It was 
then I observed her features literally flash with a vividness of 
expression which revealed a beauty I had not before imagined 
she possessed. The fellow absolutely recoiled before the con- 
centrated scorn which flushed her pale features, and the indig- 
nant gesture with which she withdrew her hand from the 
contamination of his touch. As he turned confusedly and 
hastily away, his eyes encountered mine, and he muttered some 
unintelligible sentences, during which the widow and her son 
left the spot. 

“ The lady,” said I, as soon as she was out of hearing, “ seems 
in a cold, bitter humor this morning ; not unlike the weather.” 

“ Yes, Mr. Wat I beg pardon, Mr. What’s-your name, 

I would say .^” 

“ Waters, as I perceive you know quite well. My recollec- 
tion of you is not so distinct. I have no remembrance of the 
fashionable clothes and brilliant jewellery, none whatever ; but 
the remarkable countenance I him seen.” 

I dare say you have, Waters,” he replied, reassuming his 
insolent, swaggering air. “ I practice at the Old Bailey ; and T 
have several times seen you there, not, as now, in the masque* 
rade of a gentleman, but with a uumbei on your collar.” 


THE WIDOW. 


6n 

I was silly enough to feel annoyed for a moment at the fel- 
low’s stupid sarcasm, and turned angrily away. 

“ There, don’t fly into a passion,” continued he with an exult- 
ing chuckle. “ I have no wish to be ill friends with so smart a 
hand as you are. What do you say to a glass or two of wine, 
if only to keep this confounded wind out of our stomachs r It’s 
cheap enough here.” 

I hesitated a few seconds, and then said, “ I have no great 
objection ; but first, whom have I the honor of addressing 

“ Mr. Gates. William Gates, Esquire^ attorney-at-law.” 

“ Gates ! Not the Gates, I hope, in the late Bryani 
affair V"* 

“ Well — yes ; but allow me to say. Waters, that the observa- 
tions of the judge on that matter, and the consequent proceed- 
ings, were quite unjustifiable ; and I was strongly advised to 
petition the House on the subject ; but I forbore, perhaps 
unwisely.” 

“ From consideration chiefly, I dare say, for the age and infir- 
mities of his lordship, and his numerous family .”’ 

“ Come, come,” rejoined Gates with a laugh ; “ don’t poke 
fun in that way. The truth is, I get on quite as well without as 
with the certificate. I transact business now for Mr. Everard 
Preston : you understand .^” 

“ Perfectly. I now remember where I have seen you. But 
how is it your dress has become so suddenly changed } A few 
weeks ago, it was nothing like so magnificent r” 

“ True, my dear boy, true : quite right. I saw you observed 
that. First-rate, isn’t it ? Every article genuine. Bond and 
Regent Street, I assure you,” he added, scanning himself com- 
placently over. I nodded approval, and he went on — “ You see 
I have had a windfall ; a piece of remarkable luck ; and so I 


1 H E WIDOW. 


db 


thought I would escape out of the dingy, smoky village, and air 
myself for a few days in the Channel.” 

‘‘ A delightful time of the year for such a purpose truly. 
Rather say you came to improve your acquaintance with the lady 
yonder, who, I dare say, will not prove ultimately inflexible 

“ Perhaps you are right — a little at least you may be, about 
the edges. But here we are ; what do you take — port 

“ That as soon as anything else.” 

Mr. G-ates was, as he said, constitutionally thirsty, and al- 
though it was still early in the day, drank with great relish and 
industry xAs he grew flushed and rosy, and I therefore ima- 
gined communicative, I said, ‘‘Well, now, tell me who and 
what is that lady 

The reply was a significant compound gesture, comprising a 
wink of his left eye and the tap of a fore-finger upon the right 
side of his nose. I waited, but the pantomimic action remained 
uninterpreted by words. 

“Not rich apparently .?” 

“ Poor as Job.” 

“ An imprudent marriage probably .?” 

“ Guess again, and I’ll take odds you’ll guess wrong ; but 
suppose, as variety is charming, we change the subject. What 
is your opinion now of the prospects of the ministry 

I saw it was useless attempting to extract any information 
from so cunning a rascal ; and hastily excusing myself, I rose, 
and abruptly took my leave, more and more puzzled to account 
for the evident connection, in some way or other, of so fair and 
flegant a woman with a low attorney, struck off the rolls for 
raudulent misconduct, and now acting in the name of a person 
jcarcely less disreputable than himself. On emerging from the 
tavern, I found that the wind had not only sensibly abated, but 


THE WIDOW. 


67 


liad beeome more favorable to the packet’s leaving Jersey, and 
that early the next morning we might reasonably hope to embark 
for Wevmouth, It turned out as we anticipated. The same 
boat which took me off to the roads conveyed also the widow — 
Mrs. Grrey, I saw by the cards on her modest luggage — and her 
son. Gates followed a few minutes afterwards, and we were 
soon on our stormy voyage homewards. 

The passage was a very rough, unpleasant one, and I saw 
little of the passengers in whom, in spite of myself, as it were, 1 
continued to feel so strong an interest, till the steamer was 
moored alongside the Weymouth quay, and we stood together 
for a brief space, awaiting the scrutiny and questionings of the 
officers of the customs. I bowed adieu as I stepped from the 
paddle-box to the shore, and thought, with something of a feel- 
ing of regret, that in all probability I should never see either of 
them again. I was mistaken, for on arriving early the next 
morning to take possession of the outside place booked for me 
by the coach to London through Southampton, I found Mrs. 
Grey and her son already seated on the roof. Gates came hur- 
riedly a few minutes afterwards, and ensconced himself snugly 
inside. The day was bitterly cold, and the widow and her some- 
what delicate-looking boy were but poorly clad for such incle- 
ment weather. The coachman and myself, however, contrived 
to force some rough, stout cloaks upon their acceptance, which 
sufficed pretty well during the day ; but as night came on rainy 
and tempestuous, as well as dark and bleak, I felt that they 
must be in some way or other got inside, where Gates was the 
only passenger. Yet so distant, so frigidly courteous was Mrs. 
Grey, that I was at a loss how to manage it. Gates, I saw, was 
enjoying himself hugely to his own satisfaction At every sta.ge 
he swallowed a large glass of brandy and water, and T observed 


68 


THE WIDOW. 


that he cast more and more audaciously-triumphant glances 
towards Mrs. Grey. Once her eye, though studiously I thought 
averted from him, caught his, and a deep blush, in which fear, 
timidity, and aversion seemed strangely mingled, swept over her 
face. What could it mean .' It was, however, useless to worry 
myself further with profitless conjectures, and I descended fi’om 
the roof to hold a private parley with the coachman. A reason- 
able bargain was soon struck : he went to Mrs. Grey and pro- 
posed to her, as there was plenty of room to spare, that she and 
her son should ride inside. 

“ It will make no difference in the fare,” he added, and 
it’s bitter cold out here for a lady.” 

“ Thank you,” replied the widow after a few moments’ hesi- 
tation ; “ we shall do very well here.” 

I guessed the cause of her refusal, and hastened to add, “ You 
liad better, I think, accept the coachman’s proposal : the night- 
weather will be dreadful, and even I, a man, must take refuge 
inside.” She looked at me with a sort of grateful curiosity, and 
then accepted, with many thanks, the coachman’s offer. 

When we alighted at the Regent Circus, London, I looked 
anxiously but vainly round for some one in attendance to receive 
and greet the widow and her son. She did not seem to expect 
any one, but stood gazing vacantly, yet sadly, at the noisy, 
glaring, hurrying scene around her, her child’s hand clasped in 
hers with an unconsciously tightening grasp, whilst her luggage 
was removed from the roof of the coach. Gates stood near, as 
if in expectation that his services must now, however unwillingly, 
be accepted by Mrs. Grey. I approached her, and said some- 
what hurriedly, “ If, as I apprehend, madam, you are a strangei* 
in London, and consequently in need of temporary lodgings, you 
will, I think, dc well to apply to the person whose address 1 


t H K W bow. 


69 


have written on this card. It is clase by. He knows me, and 
on your mentioning my name, will treat you with every consider- 
ation. I am a police-officer ; here is my address ; and any 
a.'isistance in my power, shall, in any case,” and I glanced at 
(xates, be freely rendered to you.” I then hastened off, and 
my wife an hour afterwards was even more anxious and inter- 
ested for the mysterious widow and her son than myself 

About six weeks had glided away, and the remembrance of 
my fellow-passengers from Guernsey was rapidly hiding into in- 
distinctness, when a visit from Eoberts, to whose lodgings I had 
recommended Mrs. Grey, brought them once more painfully 
before me. That the widow was poor I was not surprised to 
hear ; but that a person so utterly destitute of resources and 
friends, as she appeared from Roberts’ account to be, should 
have sought the huge wilderness of London, seemed marvellous. 
Her few trinkets, and nearly all her scanty wardrobe, Eoberts 
more than suspected were at the pawnbroker’s. The rent of’ 
the lodgings had not been paid for the last month, and he be- 
lieved that for some time past they had not had a sufficiency of 
food, and were now in a state of literal starvation ! Still, she 
was cold and distant as ever, complained not, though daily be- 
coming paler, thinner, weaker. 

‘‘ Does Gates the attorney visit her .”’ I asked. 

No — she would not see him, but letters from him are almost 
daily received.” 

Roberts, who was a widower, wished my wife to see her : he 
was seriously apprehensive of some tragical result ; and this, 
apart from considerations of humanity, could not be permitted 
for his own sake to occur in his house. I acquiesced ; and 
Emily hurriedly equipped herself, and set off’ with Eoberts to 
Sherrard Street, Haymarket. 


70 


THE WIDOW. 


On arriving at home, Roberts, to his own and my wife’s 
astonishment, found Grates there in a state of exuberant satisfac- 
tion, He was waiting to pay any claim Roberts had upon Mrs. 
Grrey, to whom, the ex-attorney exultingly announced, he was to 
be married on the following Thursday ! Roberts, scarcely be- 
lieving his ears, hastened up to the first floor, to ascertain if 
Mrs. Grey had really given authority to Gates to act for her. 
He tapped at the door, and a faint voice bidding him enter, he 
saw at once what had happened. Mrs. Grey, pale as marble, 
her eyes flashing with almost insane excitement, was standing by 
a table, upon which a largo tray had been placed covered with 
soups, jellies, and other delicacies, evidently just brought in 
from a tavern, eagerly watching her son partake of the first food 
he had tasted for two whole days ! Roberts saw clearly how it 
was, and stammering a foolish excuse of having tapped at the 
wrong door, hastened away. She had at last determined to 
sacrifice herself to save her child’s life ! Emily, as she related 
what she had seen and heard, wept with passionate grief, and I 
was scarcely less excited : the union of Mrs. Grey with such a 
man seemed like the profanation of a pure and holy shrine. 
Then Gates was, spite of his windfall, as he called it, essenti- 
ally a needy man ! Besides — and this was the impenetrable 
mystery of the affair — what inducement, what motive could in- 
duce a mercenary wretch like Gates to unite himself in marriage 
with poverty — with destitution The notion of his being influ- 
enced by sentiment of any kind was, I felt, absurd. The more 
I reflected on the matter, the more convinced I became tha 
there was some villainous scheme in process of accomplishment 
by Gates, and I determined to make at least one resolute effort 
to arrive at a solution of the perplexing riddle. The next day, 
having a few hours to spare, the thought struck me that I would 


THE WIDOW. 


71 


call on Mrs. drey myself. I accordingly proceeded towards 
her residence, and in Coventry Street happened to meet Jack- 
son, a brother officer, who, I was aware, from a few inquiries I 
had previously made, knew something of dates’s past history 
and present position. After circumstantially relating the whole 
matter, I asked him if he could possibly guess what the fellow’s 
object could be in contracting such a marriage } 

‘‘ Object !” replied Jackson ; ‘‘why, money of course : wha 
else ? He has by some means become aware that the lady is 
entitled to property, and he is scheming to get possession of it 
as her husband.” 

“ My own conviction ! Yet the difficulty of getting at any 
proof seems insurmountable.” 

“ Just so. And, by the way, dates is certainly in high 
feather just now, however acquired. Not only himself, but 
Rivers his cad, clerk he calls himself, has cast his old greasy skin, 
and appears quite spruce and shining. And — now I remember 
— what did you say was the lady’s name .”’ 
drey.” 

“ drey ! Ah, then I suppose it can have nothing to do with 
it ! It was a person of the name of Welton or Skelton that 
called on us a month or two ago about dates.” 

“ What was the nature of the communication .^” 

‘‘ I can hardly tell you : the charge was so loosely made, and 
hurriedly withdrawn. Skelton — yes, it was Skelton — he resides 
in pretty good style at Knightsbridge — called and said that 
dates had stolen a cheque or draft for five hundred pounds, an 
other articles sent through him to some house in the city, of 
which I think he said the principal was dead. He was advised 
to apply through a solicitor to a magistrate, and went away, we 
.supyio.^ed . for that purpose ; but about three hours afterwards he 


THE WIDOW. 


72 

returned, and in a hurried, flurried sort of way said he had been 
mistaken, and that he withdrew every charge he had made 
against Mr. Gates.” 

“ Very odd.” 

“ Yes ; but I don’t see how it can be in any way connected 
with this Mrs. Grey’s affairs. Still, do you think it would be 
of any use to sound Rivers ? I know the fellow well, and where 
I should be pretty sure to find him this evening.” 

It was arranged he should do so, and I proceeded on to Sher- 
rard Street. Mrs. Grey was alone in the front apartment of 
the ground-floor, and received me with much politeness. She 
had, I saw, been weeping ; her eyes were swollen and blood- 
shot ; and she was deadly pale ; but I looked in vain for any 
indication of that utter desolation which a woman like her, con- 
demned to such a sacrifice, might naturally be supposed to feel. 
[ felt greatly embarrassed as to how to begin ; but at length I 
plunged boldly into the matter ; assured her she was cruelly 
deceived by Gates, who was in no condition to provide for her 
and her son in even tolerable comfort ; and that I was convinced 
he had no other than a mercenary and detestable motive in 
seeking marriage with her. Mrs. Grey heard me in so totally 
unmoved a manner, and the feeling that I was really meddling 
with things that did not at all concern me, grew upon me so 
rapidly, as I spoke to that unanswering countenance, that by the 
time I had finished my eloquent harangue, I was in a perfect 
fever of embarrassment and confusion, and very heartily wished 
myself out of the place. To my further bewilderment, Mrs. 
Grey, when I had quite concluded, informed me — in considera- 
tion, she said, of the courtesies I had shewn her when we were 
fellow -travelers — that she was perfectly aware Mr. Gates’ 
motive in marrying her was purely a mercenary one ; and her 


THE WIDOW, 


73 


own in consenting to the union, except as regarded her son, was, 
she admitted, scarcely better. She added — riddle upon riddles ! 
— that she knew also that Mr. Grates was very poor — insolvent, 
she understood. I rose mechanically to my feet, with a con- 
fused notion swimming in my head that both of us at all events 
could not be in our right senses. This feeling must have been 
visible upon my face ; for Mrs. Grey added with a half-smile, 
“ You cannot reconcile these apparent contradictions ; he 
patient ; you will perfectly comprehend them before long. But 
as I wish not to stand too low in your estimation, I must tell 
you that Mr. Gates is to subscribe a written agreement that we 
separate the instant the ceremony has been performed. But 
for that undertaking, I would have suffered any extremity, death 
itself, rather than have consented to marry him !” 

Still confused, stunned, as it were, by what I had heard, my 
band was on the handle of the door to let myself out, when a 
thought arose in my mind. “ Is it possible, Mrs. Grey,” I 
said, that you can have been deceived into a belief that such 
a promise, however formally set down, is of the slightest legal 
value — that the law recognises, or would enforce, an instru- 
ment to render nugatory the solemn obligation you will, after 
signing it, make, ‘ to love, honor, obey, and cherish your hus- 
band ?’ ” I had found the right chord at last. Mrs. Grey, as I 
spoke, became deadly pale ; and had she not caught at one of 
the heavy chairs, she would have been unable to support 
erself. 

“ Do I understand you to say,” she faintly and brokenly 
gasped, “ that such an agreement as I have indicated, duly 
sealed and witnessed, could not be summarily enforced by a 
magistrate 

“ Certainly it could not, my dear madam, and well Gate.« 


74 


THE WIDOW. 


knows It to be so ; and I am greatly mistaken in the man, if, 
once the irrevocable ceremony over, he would not be the first to 
deride your credulity.” 

If that be so,” exclaimed the unfortunate lady with passion- 
ate despair, “ I am indeed ruined— lost ! Oh my darling boy, 
would that you and I were sleeping in your father’s quiet 
grave !” 

Say not so,” I exclaimed with emotion, for I was afflicted 
by her distress. “ Honor me with your confidence, and all may 
yet be well.” 

After much entreaty, she despairingly complied. The sub- 
.stance of her story, which was broken by frequent outbursts of 
grief and lamentation, was as follows : — She was the only child 
of a London merchant — Mr. Walton we will call him — who had 
lived beyond his means, and failed ruinously to an immense 
amount. His spirits and health were broken by this event, 
which he survived only a few months. It happened that about 
the time of the bankruptcy she had become acquainted with Mr. 
John Grey, the only son of an eminent East India merchant, 
but a man of penurious disposition and habits. 

“ Mr. Ezekiel Grey .^” 

The same. They became attached to each other, deeply 
so ; and knowing that to solicit the elder Grey’s consent to their 
union would be tantamount to a sentence of immediate separa- 
tion and estrangement, they unwisely, thoughtlessly, married, 
about ten months after Mr. Walton’s death, without the elder 
Grey’s knowledge. Gates, an attorney, then in apparently fai 
circumstances, with whom young Mr. Grey had become ac- 
quainted, and Anne Crawford, Maria Walton’s servant, were the 
witne.sses of the ceremony, which, after due publication of banns, 
was celebrated in St. Giles’s Church. The young couple, after 


THE WIDOW 


7A 


the marriage, lived in the strictest privacy, the wife meagrely 
supported by the pocket-money allowance of Mr. Ezekiel Grey 
to his son. Thus painfully elapsed nine years of life, when, 
about twelve months previous to the present time, Mr. Grey 
determined to send his son to Bombay, in order to the arrange- 
ment of some complicated claims on a house of agency there. 
It was decided that, during her husband’s absence, Mrs. John 
Grey should reside in Guernsey, partly with a view to economy, 
and partly for the change of air, which it was said their son re- 
quired — Mr. Gates to be the medium through which money and 
letters were to reach the wife. Mr. Ezekiel Grey died some- 
what suddenly about four months after his son’s departure from 
England, and Mrs. Grey had been in momentary expectation of 
the arrival of her husband, when Gates came to Guernsey, and 
announced his death at Bombay, just as he was preparing for 
the voyage to England ! The manner of Gates was strange and 
insolent ; and he plainly intimated that without his assistance 
both herself and child would be beggars ; and that assistance he 
audaciously declared he would only afford at the price of mar- 
riage ! Mrs. Grey, overwhelmed with grief for the loss of a 
husband by whom she had been as constantly as tenderly be- 
loved, and dizzy with ill-defined apprehension, started at once 
for London. A copy of the will of Mr. Ezekiel Grey had beei 
procured, by which in effect he devised all his estate, real and 
personal, to his son ; but in the event of Mr. John Grey dying 
unmarried, or without lawful issue, it went to his wife’s nephew 
Mr. Skelton 

“ Skelton of Knightsbridge 

Yes : in case of Mr. John Grey marrying, Skelton was to be 
paid an immediate legacy of five thousand pounds. So far, then, 
as fortune went, the widow and her son seemed amply provided 


76 


y i E w I D ^ w . 


for. So Mrs. Grey thought till she had another interview with 
Gates, who unblushingly told her that unless she consented to 
marry him, he would not prove, though he had abundant means 
of doing so, that the person she had married at St. Giles’s 
Church was the son of Ezekiel Grey, the eminent merchant ! 
“ The name,” said the scoundrel, “ will not help you ; there 
are plenty of John Greys on that register ; and as for Anne 
Crawford, she has been long since dead.” Mrs. Grey next 
called on Mr. Skelton, and was turned out of the house as an 
impostor ; and finally, having parted with everything upon which 
she could raise money, and Gates reiterating his ofier, or demand 
rather, accompanied by the proposal of an immediate sepanxtion, 
she had consented. 

“ Courage, madam !” I exclaimed at the end of her narra- 
tive, of which the above is the substance, and I spoke in a tone 
of joyous confidence, which, more than my words, reassured 
her : I already see glimpses of daylight through this maze of 
villainy. Gates has played a desperate game certainly, but one 
which we shall, you may rely on it, easily baffle.” A knock at 
the door interrupted me I peered through the blind, and saw 
that it was Gates : “ Silence — secrecy !” I emphatically urged 
in a low voice, and with my finger on my dip, and left the room 
before the street-door could be answered ; and by my friend 
Roberts’ contrivance, I was in a few minutes afterwards in the 
street, all the time unobserved by the intruder. 

The next day early Jackson called on me. He had seen 
Rivers, but he seemed to know nothing, except, indeed, that it 
was quite true Gates had received a five-hundred pound draft 
from a house in India, which he. Rivers, had got notes for at the 
Bank of England. There were also in the same parcel a gold 
watch, he knew, and some jewelry, but from whom it all came, 


THE WIDOW. 


77 


he, Rivers, was ignorant. Nothing but that had Jackson been 
able, to discover. 

“ Call you that nothing said I, starting up, and hastily 
swallowing my last cup of coflee. “ It is enough, at all events, 
to transport William Gates, Esquire !” 

I had to wait that morning on especial business on the com- 
missioner ; and after the business upon which I had been sum- 
moned had been despatched, I related the case of Grey versm 
Gates as clearly and succinctly as I could. He listened with 
great attention, and in about a quarter of an hour I left him 
with as clear and unmistakable a path before me as it was pos- 
sible to desire. I was passing down the stairs when I was re-- 
summoned. 

“ You quite understand. Waters, that Skelton is not for a 
moment to be lost sight of till his deposition has been taken 

“ Certainly, sir.” 

“ That will do then.” 

Arrived at home, I despatched my wife in a cab for Mrs. 
Grey. She soon arrived, and as much as was necessary of our 
plan I confided to her. Mr. Gates had pressed her earnestly 
that the ceremony should take place on the following moi-ning. 
By my directions she now wrote, although her trembling fingers 
made an almost unintelligible scrawl of it, that as it was to be, 
she agreed to his proposition, and should expect him at nine 
o’clock. 

Two hours afterwards, Jackson and I, having previously 
watched the gentleman home, knocked at Mr. Skelton’s house 
Knightsbridge, and requested to see him. At the very moment, 
he came out of a side-room, and was proceeding up .stairs. 

“ Mr. Skelton,” said I, stepping forward, “ I must have a 
private interview with you !” He was in an instant as pale as a 


78 


THE WIDOW. 


corpse, and shaking like an aspen — such miserable cowards does 
an evil conscience make men — and totteringly led the way, with- 
out speaking, to a small library. 

You know me, Mr. Skelton, and doubtless guess the mean- 
ing of my errand 

He stammered out a denial, which his trembling accents and 
»shy countenance emphaticall}’^ denied. 

“ You and Grates of the Minories are engaged in a felonious 
conspiracy to deprive Mrs. Grey and her infant son of their prop- 
erty and inheritance !” 

Had he been struck by a cannon-shot, he could not have fallen 
more suddenly and helplessly upon the couch close to which he 
was standing. 

“ My God !” he exclaimed, ‘‘ what is this 

Perceiving he was quite sufficiently frightened, I said, 
“ There is no wish on Mrs. Grey’s part to treat you harshly, so 
that you aid us in convicting Gates. For this purpose, you must 
at once give the numbers of the notes Gates obtained for the 
cheque, and also the letter in which the agent at Bombay an- 
nounced its transmission through Gates.” 

Yes — yes !” he stammered, rising, and going to a secretaire. 
“ There is the letter.”* 

I glanced over it. “ I am glad to find,” I said, that you 
did not know by this letter that the money and other articles 
here enumerated had been sent by the dying husband to his 
wife through Gates.” 

“ I most solemnly assure you I did not !” he eagerly replied , 
‘ until — until” 

“ Mr. Gates informed you of it, and seduced you to conspire 
with hin\. He has been playing a double game. Whilst amu 
sing you, he purposes marrying Mrs. Grey to-morrow morning !’* 


THE WIDOW. 


79 


“ Is it possible } But I suspected” 

“ No doubt. In the meantime, you will, if you please, ac 
company us. There is every desire to spare you,” I added, 
perceiving him hesitate ; “ but our orders are peremptory.” 
With a very ill grace Mr. Skelton complied, and we were rapidly 
driven off. 

The next morning Jackson, Skelton, and myself, were in 
Sherrard Street before daybreak. Mrs. Glrey was already up 
and at eight o’clock we sat down with her and her son to an ex- 
cellent breakfast. She was charmingly dressed in the wedding 
garments which Grates had purchased with her stolen money, and 
I almost felt it in my heart to pity the unfortunate bridegroom, 
rascal as he was, about to be suddenly disappointed of such a 
bride and such a fortune ! It was very necessary that she should 
be so arrayed, for, as we had thought quite probable, Rivers 
called a few minutes past eight with a present of jewelry, and 
the bride’s appearance must have completely disarmed any sus- 
picion which his master might have entertained. 

Breakfast was over : Mrs. Grrey, with her son, was seated on 
a couch in the front room, and we were lying perdu in the next 
apartment, separated only by folding-doors, when a coach drew 
up before the house ; a bridegroom’s impatient summons thun- 
dered at the door ; and presently forth stepped Mr. Grates, 
resplendently attired, followed by his man Rivers, who was, it 
appeared, to give the bride away. Mr. Grates entered the 
presence of beautiful Mrs. Grrey in immense triumph. He ap- 
proached her with the profoundest gallantry ; and was about to 
speak, when Jackson and I, who had been sedulously watching 
through the chink of the slightly-opened doors, advanced into 
the room, followed by Mr. Skelton. His attitude of terror and 
surprise was one of the most natural performances I ever wit 


80 


THE WIDOW. 


nessed. He turned instinctively as if to flee. Ky giaip ras in 
an instant on his collar. 

“ The game is up, my good Mr. Gates : I arrest yoM for 
felony !-” 

“ Felony !” 

“ Ay, truly. For stealing a gold watch, diamond pi’^, and 

cheque for five hundred pounds, sent through you to thiv 
lady.” 

All his insolent swagger vanished in an instant, and the ahje^i 
scoundrel threw himself at Mrs. Grey’s feet, and absolutelv 
howled for mercy. 

“ I will do anything,” he gaspingly protested ; “ anytHng 
you require, so that you will save me from these men !” 

“ Where is Crawford .^” I asked, desirous of taking immediate, 
but not, I hope, unfair advantage of the rascal’s terror ; “ she 
who witnessed this lady’s marriage 

“ At Leamington, Warwickshire,” he replied. 

‘‘ Very good. Now, Mrs. Grey, if you will leave us, I shall 

be obliged. We must search this gentleman, and perhaps” 

She vanished in an instant : her gentleness of disposition was, J 
saw, ranidly mastering all resentment. I carried the watch 
took out of Gates’s pocket to her, and she instantly recognised 
it to be her husband’s. A fifty and a twenty-pound bank-note, 
corresponding to the numbers on our list, we extricated from the 
disa.T)pointed bridegroom’s pocket-book. “ And now, sir, if you 
please,” said I, “ we will adjourn to your lodgings.” A savage 
scowl was his only reply, not at all discomposing to me, and we 
were soon busy ransacking his hidden hoards. We found several 
other articles sent by Mr. John Grey to his wife, and three 
letters to her, which, as corroborative evidence, would leave no 
doubt as to who her husband was. Our next visit was to a police 


THE WIDOW. 


SI 


court, where Mr. William Gates was fully committed for trial. 
He was in due time convicted of stealing the watch, and sen- 
tenced to transportation for seven years. 

Mrs. Grey’s marriage, and her son’s consequent succession to 
the deceased merchant’s wealth, were not disputed. She ha» 
never remarried, and lives now in beneficent afiluence in one of 
the new squares beyond the Edgeware Road with her son, who 
though now six-and-twenty years of age, or thereabouts, is stiL 
unappropriated ; but the good time is coming,” so at leas< 
hinted a few days ago the fashionable ‘‘ Morning Post.” 


f {ft i i). 


THE TWINS. 

The records of police courts afford but imperfect evidence of th 
business really effected by tbe officers attached to them. The 
machinery of English criminal law is, in practice, so subservient 
to the caprice of individual prosecutors, that instances are con- 
stantly occurring in which flagrant violations of natural justice 
are, from various motives, corrupt and otherwise, withdrawn not 
only from the cognizance of judicial authority, but from the 
reprobation of public opinion. Compromises are usually effected 
between the apprehension of the inculpated parties and the public 
examination before a magistrate. The object of prosecution has 
been perhaps obtained by the preliminary step of arrest,' or a 
criminal understanding has been arrived at in the interval ; and 
it is then found utterly hopeless to proceed, however manifest 
may have appeared the guilt of the prisoner. If you adopt the 
expedient of compelling the attendance of the accused, it is, in 
nine cases out of ten, mere time and trouble thrown away. The 
utter forgetfulness of memory,' the loose recollection of facts so 
vividly remembered but a few hours before, the delicately-scru- 
pulous hesitation to depose confldently to the clearest verities 
evinced by the reluctant prosecutor, render a conviction almost 
impossible ; so that, except in cases of flagrant and startling 
crimes, which are of course earnestly prosecuted by the crown 
lawyers, offences against our sovereign lady the Queen, her 
crown, and dignity,” as criminal indictments run, if no^ggrieved 


THE TWINS. 


83 


voluntarily appears to challenge justice in behalf of his 
iiege lady, remain unchastised, and not unfrequently unexposed. 
From several examples of this prevalent abuse which have come 
within my own knowledge, I select the following instance, merely 
changing the names of the parties : — 

My services, the superintendent late one afternoon informed 
me, were required in a perplexed and entangled affair, which 
would probably occupy me for some time, as orders had been 
given to investigate the matter'thoroughly. “ There,” he added, 

“ is a Mr. Repton, a highly-respectable country solicitor’s card 
He is from Lancashire, and is staying at Webb’s Hotel, Picca- _ 
dilly. You are to see him at once. He will put you in pos- 
session of all the facts — surmises rather, I should say, for the 
facts, to my apprehension, are scant enough — connected with 
the case, and you will then use all possible diligence to ascertain 
first if the alleged crime has been really committed, and if so, 
of course to bring the criminal or criminals to justice.” 

I found Mr. Repton, a stout, bald-headed, gentlemanly person, 
apparently about sixty years of age, just in the act of going out. 
“ I have a pressing engagement for this evening, Mr. Waters,” 
said he, after glancing at the introductory note I had brought, 
“ and cannot possibly go into the business with the attention and 
minuteness it requires till the morning. But I’ll tell you what : 
one of the parties concerned, and the one, too, with whom you 
will have especially to deal, is, I know, to be at Covent Garden 
Theatre this evening. It is of course necessary that you should 
be thoroughly acquainted with his person ; and if you will go 
with me in the cab that is waiting outside, I will step with you 
into the theatre, and point him out.” I assented; and on 
entering Covent Garden pit, Mr. Repton, who kept behind 
me, to avoid observation, directed my attention to a group of 


persons occupying the front seats of the third box in the lowei 
tier from the stage, on the right-hand side of the house. They 
were — a gentleman of about thirty years of age ; his wife, a 
very elegant person, a year or two younger ; and three children, 
the eldest of whom, a boy, could not have been more than six 
or seven years old. This done, Mr. Repton left the theatre, 
and about two hours afterwards I did the same. 

The next morning I breakfasted with the Lancashire solicitoi 
by appointment. As soon as it was concluded, business was at 
once entered upon. 

“ You closely observed Sir Charles Malvern yesterday evening, 
I presume said Mr. Repton. 

“ I paid great attention to the gentleman you pointed out to 
me,” I answered, “if he be Sir Charles Malvern.” 

“ He is, or at least But of that presently. First let me 

inform you that Malvern, a few months ago, was a beggard game- 
ster, or nearly so, to speak with precision. He is now in good 
bodily health, has a charming wife, and a family to whom he is 
much attached, an unencumbered estate of about twelve thou- 
sand a year, and has not gambled since he came into possession 
of the property. This premised, is there, think you, anything 
remarkable in Sir Charles’s demeanor 

“ Singularly so. My impression was, that he was laboring 
under a terrible depression of spirits, caused, 1 imagined, by 
pecuniary difficulties. His manner was restless, abstracted. He 
paid no attention whatever to anything going on on the stage, 
except when his wife or one of the children especially challenged 
his attention ; and then, a brief answer returned, he relapsed 
into the same restless unobservance as before. He is very ner- 
vous too. The box door was suddenly opened once or twice, 
and 1 noticed his sudden start each time.” 


t ft E f WINS. 


85 


“You have exactly described him. Well, that perturbed, 
unquiet feverishness of manner has constantly distinguished him 
since his accession to the Redwood estates, and only since then 
It strengthens me and one or two others in possibly an un- 
founded suspicion, which But I had better, if I wish to 

render myself intelligible, relate matters in due sequence. 

“ Sir Thomas Redwood, whose property in Lancashire is 
chiefly in the neighborhood of Liverpool, met his death, as did 
his only son Mr. Archibald Redwood, about six months ago, in 
a very sudden and shocking manner. They were out trying a 
splendid mare for the first time in harness, which Sir Thomas 
had lately purchased at a very high price. Two grooms on 
horseback were in attendance, to render assistance if required, 
for the animal was a very powerful, high-spirited one. All went 
very well till they arrived in front of Mr. Meredith’s place. Oak 
Villa. This gentleman has a passion for firing off a number of 
brass cannon on the anniversary of such events as he deems 
worthy of the honor. This happened, unfortunately, to be one 
of Mr. Meredith’s gunpowder days ; and as Sir Thomas and hif 
son were passing, a stream of light flashed directly in the eyes 
of the mare, followed by the roar of artillery, at no more thar 
about ten paces off. The terrified animal became instuntl} 
unmanageable, got the bit between her teeth, and darted off at 
the wildest speed. The road is a curved and rugged one ; and 
after tearing along for about half a mile, the ofi-wheel of the 
gig came, at an abruj^t turn, full against a milestone. The 
tremendous shock hurled the two unfortunate gentlemen upon 
the road with frightful violence, tore the vehicle almost com- 
pletely assunder, and so injured the mare, that she died the next 
day. The alarmed grooms, who had not only been unable to 
render assistance, but even to keep up with the terrified mare, 


86 


THE TWINS. 


found Mr. Archibald Redwood quite dead. The spine had been 
broken close to the nape of the neck: his head, in fact, was 
doubled up, so to speak, under the body. Sir Thomas still 
breathed, and was conveyed to Redwood Manor House. Sur- 
gical assistance was promptly obtained ; but the internal injuries 
were so great, that the excellent old gentleman expired in a few 
hours after he had reached his home. I was hastily sent for ; 
and when I arrived. Sir Thomas was still fully conscious. He 
imparted to me matters of great moment, to which he requested 
I would direct, after his decease, my best care and attention 
His son, I was aware, had but just returned from a tour on the 
continent, where he had been absent for nearly a twelvemonth ; 
but I was not aware, neither was his father till the day before 
his death, that Mr. Archibald Redwood had not only secret!}’ 
espoused a Miss Ashton — of a reduced family, but belonging to 
our best gentry — but had returned home, not solely for the pur- 
pose of soliciting Sir Thomas’s forgiveness of his unauthorized 
espousals, but that the probable heir of Redwood might be born 
within the walls of the ancient manor house. Alter the first 
burst of passion and surprise. Sir Thomas, one of the best- 
hearted men in the universe, cordially forgave his son’s disobe- 
dience — partly, and quite rightly, imputing it to his own foolish 
urgency in pressing a union with one of the Lacy family, with 
which the baronet was very intimate, and whose estate adjoined 
his. 

“ W ell, this lady, now a widow, had been left by her husband 
at Chester, whilst he came on to seek an explanation with his 
father. Mr. Archibald Redwood was to have set out the next 
morning in one of Sir Thomas’s carriages to bring home his wife ; 
and the baronet, with his dying breath, bade me assure her of 
his entire forgiveness, and his earnest hope and trust that through 


THE TWINS. 


87 


her offspring the race of the Hedwoods might he continued in a 
direct line. The family estates, I should tell you, being strictly 
entailed on heirs-male, devolved, if no son of Mr. Archibald 
Redwood should bar his claim, upon Charles Malvern, the son 
of a cousin of the late Sir Thomas Redwood. The baronet had 
always felt partially towards Malvern, and had assisted him 
pecuniarily a hundred times. Sir Thomas also directed me to 
draw as quickly as I could a short will, bequeathing Mr. Charles 
Malvern twenty thousand pounds out of the personals. I wrote 
as expeditiously as I could, but by the time the paper was ready 
for his signature. Sir Thomas was no longer conscious. I placed 
the pen in his hand, and I fancied he understood the purpose, for 
his fingers closed faintly upon it ; but the power to guide was 
utterly gone, and only a slight, scrambling stroke marked the 
paper as the pen slid across it in the direction of the falling arm. 

“ Mr. Marlvern arrived at the manor-house about an hour 
after Sir Thomas breathed his last. It was clearly apparent 
through all his sorrow, partly real, I have no doubt, as well as 
partly assumed, that joy, the joy of riches, splendor, station, was 
dancing at his heart, and, spite of all his efforts to subdue or 
conceal it, sparkling in his eye. I briefly, but gently as I could, 
acquainted him with the true position of affairs. The revulsion 
of feeling which ensued entirely unmanned him ; and it was not 
till an hour afterwards that he recovered his self-possession sufii- 
ciently to converse reasonably and coolly upon his position. At 
last he became apparently reconciled to the sudden overclouding 
of his imaginatively-brilliant prospects, and it was agreed that as 
he was a relative of the widow, he should at once set off to break 
the sad news to her. Well, a few days after his departure^ff 
received a letter from him, stating that Lady Redwood — I don’t 
think, by the way, that, as her husband died before succeeding 


S8 


THE TWINS. 


to the baronetcy, she is entitled to that appellation of honor 
we, however, call her so out of courtesy — that Lady iledwood, 
though prematurely confined in consequence of the intelligence 
of her husband’s untimely death, had given birth to a female 
child, and that both mother and daughter were as well as couW 
be expected. This, you will agree, seemed perfectly satisfac- 
tory ?” 

“ Entirely so.” 

“So I thought. Mr. Malvern was now unquestionably, 
whether Sir Charles Malvern or not, the proprietor of the 
Redwood estates, burthened as with a charge, in accordance 
with the conditions of the entails, of a thousand pounds life 
annuity to the late Mr. Redwood’s infant daughter. 

“ Sir Charles returned to Redwood manor-house, where his 
wife and family soon afterwards arrived. Lady Redwood had 
been joined, I understood, by her mother, Mrs. Ashton, and 
would, when able to undertake the journey, return to her ma- 
ternal home. It was about two months after Sir Thomas Red- 
wood’s death that I determined to pay Lady Redwood a visit, 
in order to the winding up of the personal estate, which it was 
desirable to accomplish as speedily as possible ; and then a new 
and terrible light flashed upon me.” 

“ What, in heaven’s name !” I exclaimed, for the first time 
breaking silence — “ what could there be to reveal 

“ Only,” rejoined Mr. Repton, “ that, ill, delirious, as Lady 
Redwood admitted herself to have been, it was her intimate, 
unconquerable conviction that she had given birth to twins /” 

“ Grood Grod ! And you suspect ” 

“We don’t know what to suspect. Should the lady’s confi* 
dent belief be correct, the missing child might have been a boy 
You understand 


THE TWINS. 


89 


“ I do. But is there any tangible evidence to justify this 
horrible suspicion 

Yes ; the surgeon-apothecary and his wife, a Mr. and Mrs. 
Williams, who attended lady Redwood, have suddenly disap- 
^peared from Chester, and, from no explainable motive, having 
eft or abandoned a fair business there.” 

“ That has certainly an ugly look.” 

“ True ; and a few days ago I received information that Wil- 
liams has been seen in Birmingham He was well dressed, and 
not apparently in any business.” 

“ There certainly appears some ground for suspicion. What 
plan of operations do you propose .^” 

“ That,” replied Mr. Repton, “ I must leave to your more 
practised sagacity. I can only undertake that no means shall 
be lacking that may be required.” 

“ It win be better, perhaps,” I suggested, after an interval of 
reflection, “ that I should proceed to Birmingham at once. You 
have of course an accurate description of the persons of Wil- 
liams and his wife ready .^” 

“ I have ; and very accurate pen-and-ink sketches I am told 
they are. Besides these, I have also here,” continued Mr. 
Repton, taking from his pocket-book a sheet of carefully-folded 
satin paper, “ A full description of the female baby, drawn up 
by its mother, under the impression that twins always — I believe 
they generally do — closely resemble each other. “ Light hair, 
blue eyes, dimpled chin ” — and so on. The lady — a very charm 
ing person, I assure you, and meek and gentle as a fawn — i 
chiefly anxious to recover her child. You and I, should on. 
suspicions be confirmed, have other duties to perform.” 

This was pretty nearly all that passed, and the next day 1 
was in Birmingham. 


90 


THE TWINS. 


The search, as I was compelled to he very cautious in my 
inquiries, was tedious, but finally successful. Mr. and Mrs. Wil- 
liams I discovered living in a pretty house, with neat grounds 
attached, about two miles out of Birmingham, on the coach road 
to Wolverhampton. Their assumed name was Burridge, and 
I ascertained from the servant-girl, who fetched their dinner 
nd supper, beer, and occasionally wine and spirits, from a 
neighboring tavern, that they had one child, a boy, a few 
months old, of whom neither father nor mother seemed very 
fond. By dint of much perseverance, I at length got upon 
pretty familiar terms with Mr. Burridge, alias Williams. He 
spent his evenings regularly in a tavern ; but with all the 
pains-taking, indefatigable ingenuity I employed, the chief 
knowledge I acquired, during three weeks of assiduous endea- 
vor, was, that my friend Burridge intended, immediately after 
a visit which he expected shortly to receive from a rich and 
influential relative in London, to emigrate to America, at all 
events to go abroad. This was, however, very significant and 
precious information ; and very rarely, indeed, was he, after 
I had obtained it, out of my sight or observation. At length 
perseverance obtained its reward. One morning I discerned 
my friend, much more sprucely attired than ordinarily, make 
his way to the railway station, and there question with eager 
looks every passenger that alighted from the first-class car- 
riages. At last a gentleman, whom I instantly recognized, 
pite of his shawl and other wrappings, arrived by the express 
train from London. Williams instantly accosted him, a cab 
was called, and away they drove. I followed in another, and 
saw them both alight at a hotel in New Street. I also alighted, 
and was mentally debating how to proceed, when Williams 
came out of the tavern, n i proceeded in the direction of his 


THE TWINS. 


9i 


home. I followed, overtook him, and soon contrived to ascer- 
tain that he and his wife had important business to transact 
in Birmingham the next morning, which would render it im- 
possible he should meet me, as I proposed, till two or three 
o’clock in the afternoon at the earliest ; and the next morning, 
my esteemed friend informed me, he would leave the place, 
probably for ever. An hour after this interesting conversation 
I, accompanied by the chief of the Birmingham police, was 
closeted with the landlord of the hotel in New Street, a highly- 
respectable person, who promised us every assistance in his 
power. Sir Charles Malvern had, we found, engaged a private 
room for the transaction of important business with some per- 
sons he expected in the morning, and our plans were soon fully 
matured and agreed upon. 

I slept little that night, and immediately after breakfast 
hastened with my Birmingham colleague to the hotel. The 
apartment assigned for Sir Charles Malvern’s use had been 
a bedroom, and a large wardrobe, with a high wing at each 
end, still remained in it. We tried if it would hold us, 
and with very little stooping and squeezing, found it would do 
very well. The landlord soon gave us the signal to be on 
the alert, and in we jammed ourselves, locking the wing-doors 
on the inside. A minute or two afterwards. Sir Charles, and 
Mr. and Mrs. Williams entered, and, paper, pens, and ink 
having been brought, business commenced in right earnest. 
Their conversation it is needless to detail. It will suffice to 
observe that it was manifest Sir Charles, by a he^avy bribe, 
had induced the accoucheur and his wife to conceal the birth 
of the male child, which, as I suspected, was that which Wil- 
liams and his spouse were bringing up as their own. I must 
do the fictitious baronet the ju.stice to say that he had from 


92 


THE TWINS. 


the first the utmost anxiety that no harm should befall the 
infant. Mr. Malvern’s nervous dread lest his eonfcderatcs 
should be questioned, had induced their hurried departure, 
from Chester, and it now appeared that he had become aware 
of the suspicions entertained by Mr. Hepton, and could not 
rest till the Williams’s and the child were safe out of the 
country. It was now insisted, by the woman more especially, 
that the agreement for the large annual payment to be made 
by Sir Charles should be fairly written out and signed in plain 
“ black and white,” to use Mrs. Williams’ expression, in ordei 
that no future misunderstandings might arise. This, Mr. Mai 
vern strongly objected to ; but finding the woman would accep 
of no other terms, he sullenly complied, and at the same time 
reiterated, that if any harm should befall the boy— to whom 
he intended, he said, to leave a handsome fortune — he would 
cease, regardless of consequences to himself, to pay the Wil- 
liams’s a single shilling. 

A silence of several minutes followed, broken only by the 
scratching of the pen on the paper. The time to me seemed 
an age, squeezed, crooked, stifled as I was in that narrow box, 
and so I afterwards learned it did to my fellow-suflerer. At 
length Mr. Malvern said, in the same cautious whisper in 
which they had all hitherto spoken. “ This will do, I think 
and read what he^had written. Mr. and Mrs. Williams sig- 
nifled their approval ; and as matters were now fully ripe, I 
gently turned the key, and very softly pushed open the door. 
The backs of the amiable tiio were towards me, and as my 
boots were off, and the apartment was thickly carpeted, 1 
approached unperceived, and to the inexpressible horror ami 
astonishment of the parties concerned, whose heads were bent 
eagerly over the important document, a hand, which belonged 


THE T V I N 8 . 


93 


to neither of them, was thrust silently but swiftly forward, 
and grasped the precious instrument. A fierce exclamation 
from jNIr. Malvern as he started from his seat, and a convul- 
sive scream from Mrs. Williams as she fell back in hers, 
followed ; and to add to the animation of the tableau, my 
friend in the opposite wing emerged at tlie same moment from 
his hiding-place. 

Mr. Malvern comprehended at a glance the situation of atfairs, 
and made a furious dash at the paper. I v;as quicker as well as 
stronger than he, and he failed in his object. Resistance was of 
course out of the question ; and in less than two hours we were 
speeding on the rail towards London, accompanied by the child, 
whom we entrusted to Williams’ servant-maid. 

Mrs. Repton was still in town, and Mrs. Ashton, Lady Red- 
wood, and her unmarried sister, in their impatience of intelli- 
gence, had arrived several days before. I had the pleasure 
of accompanying Mrs. Repton with the child and his tempo- 
iaiy nurse to Osborne’s Hotel in the Adelphi ; and I really 
at first feared for the excited mother’s reason, or that she 
would do the infant a mischief, so tumultuous, so frenzied, 
was her rapturous joy at tlui recovery of her lost treasure. 
AVhen placed in the cot beside the female infant, the resem- 
blance of the one to the other was certainly almost perfect. 
I never saw before nor since so complete a likeness. This 
was enough for the mother ; but, fortunately, we had much 
more satisfactory evidence, legally viewed, to establish the 
identity of the child in a court of law, should the necessity 
arise for doing so. 

Here, as far as I am concerned, all positive knowledge of 
this curious piece of family history ends. Of subsequent trans- 
Bctions between the parties I had no personal cognizance. I 


94 


THE TWINS. 


only know tkere was a failure of justice, and I can pretty 
well guess from what motives. The parties I arrested in 
Birmingham were kept in strict custody for several days ; hut 
no inducement, no threats, could induce the institutors of the 
inquiry to appear against the detected criminals. 

Mrs. and Miss Ashton, Lady Redwood and her children, 
left town the next day hut one, for Redwood Manor; and Mr. 
Repton coolly told the angry superintendent that ‘‘ he had no 
instructions to prosecute.” He, too, was speedily otf, and the 
prisoners were necessarily discharged out of custody. 

I saw about three weeks afterwards in a morning paper that 
Mr. Malvern, “ whom the hirth of a posthumous heir in a direct 
line had necessarily deprived of all chance of succession to the 
Redwood estates, and the baronetcy, which the newspapers 
had so absurdly conferred on him, was, with his amiable lady 
and family, about to leave England for Italy, where they 
intended to remain some time.” The expressed, but uncom- 
pleted will of the deceased baronet. Sir Thomas Redwood, 
had been, it was further stated, carried into effect, and the 
legacy intended for Mr. Malvern paid over to him. The Wil- 
liams’s never, to my knowledge, attained to the dignity of a 
notice in the newspapers ; but I believe they pursued their 
original intention of passing over to America 

Thus not only “ Offence’s gilded hand,” but some of the best 
feelings of our nature, not unfrequently, “ shove by Justice,” 
and place a concealing gloss over deeds which, in other cir- 
cumstances, would have infallibly consigned the perpetrators tt 
a prison. Or perhaps the hulks. Whether, however, any enact 
ment could effectually grapple with an abuse which springs from 
motives so natural and amiable, is a question which I must leave 
to wiser heads than mine to discuss and determine. 




THE PURSUIT • 

The reader need scarcely be told that albeit poltce-cfficcrs 
like other men, chiefly delight to recount their successful ex- 
ploits, they do, nevertheless, experience numerous and vexatious 
failures and disappointments. One especially I remember, of • 
which the irritating recollection did not pass away for many 
weeks. I had been for some time in pursuit of a rather eminent 
rascal, though one young in years, and by marriage respectably 
connected, who, by an infamous abuse of the trust reposed in 
him by the highly-respectable Arm who employed him, had con- 
trived to possess himself of a large sum of money, with which, 
or at least with the portion of it falling to his share — for we 
discovered that he had been for some time connected with a 
gang of first-rate swindlers — he hoped to escape to America. 
The chase was hot after him ; and spite of all his doublings and 
turnings, and the false scents adroitly thrown out by his con- 
federates with the view to favor his escape, I at last fairly ran 
him to earth at Plymouth, though in what precise spot of it he 
burrowed I could not for the moment ascertain. Neither was I 
well acquainted with his features ; but in the description of his 
person furnished me there were certain indelible marks enume- 
rated which, upon strict examination, could not fail to determine 
his identity. He purposed, I ascertained, to attempt leaving 
England in a barque bound for New York, which was to sail 

from Plymouth on the day after I arrived there. Of this I was 

- 7 , ■ 


96 


THE PURSUIT. 


fully satisfied, and I determined to capture him on board. Ac- 
cordingly, about half an hour before the ship was to sail, and 
after all the passengers had embarked, two of the local officers 
and I got into a boat which I had some time previously engaged 
to be in readiness, and put off to the vessel. The wind was de- 
cidedly fair for the emigrant ship ; and so stiffly did it blow from 
the north-east, that four hands, I was informed, were required, 
not indeed to convey us swiftly out, but to pull the boat back 
against the wind, and the strong tide which would be running 
outside the breakwater. The sea dashed smartly at times over 
the boat, and the men pulled their sou’-wester caps well over 
their eyes, to shield themselves from the blinding spray. We 
were speedily on board ; and the captain, although much an- 
noyed at the delay, paraded his motley passengers as well as 
crew before us ; but to my extreme surprise our bird was not 
amongst them ! Every possible and impossible hiding-place 
was thoroughly but vainly searched ; and we were at length 
compelled to a reluctant admission that the gentleman we were 
in quest of, had not yet honored the captain of the Columbia 
with his patronage. 

We sullenly returned into the boat ; and the instant we did 
so, the anchor, already atrip, was brought home ; the ship’s 
bows fell rapidly off ; her crowded canvass dilated and swelled in 
the spanking breeze, and she sprang swiftly off upon her course. 
It was a pretty and somewhat exciting spectacle ; and I and my 
companions continued to watch the smartly-handled vessel with 
much interest till a point of land hid her from our view. We 
then turned our faces towards Plymouth, from which, I was 
sm’prised to find, we were apparently as distant as ever. “ The 
tide, let alone the wind, is dead against us !” growled the master 
of the boat, who was now pulling the near oar, in reply to a re- 


THE PURSUIT. 


97 


mark from one of the Plymouth officers. This man had steered 
on going out. A quick suspicion flashed across me. ' Where 
is the other boatman who came out with us I sharply de- 
manded. The old seaman, instead of replying, turned himself 
half round towards the weather-bow oar, exclaiming, “ Easy, 
Billy — easy ; let her nose lay a little closer to the wind !” 
This, I readily saw, was done to conceal a momentary confu- 
sion, arising from the suddenness of my question — a very slight 
one by the by, for the fellow was an old man-of-war’s man, with 
a face hardened and bronzed by service, weather, grog, and 
tobacco smoke. I repeated the question in a more peremptory 
tone. The veteran first deliberately squirted a mouthful of 
tobacco juice over the side, and then with an expression of his 
cast-iron phiz, which it is impossible by words to convey a dis- 
tinct idea of, so compounded was it of diabolical squint, lamb- 
like simplicity, and impudent cunning, replied, “ That wor a 
passenger to Yankee Land — a goin’ there, I’m purty suspicious, 
for the benefit of his health.” I looked at the Plymouth officers, 
and they at me. The impudent ingenuity of the trick that had 
been played us seemed scarcely credible. ‘‘ He — he — ho — ho !” 
rumbled out of the tobacco-stifled throat of the old rogue, “ If 
he wor somebody you wanted, it wor uncommon well done 
Didn’t you obsarve him jump into the main chains of the barkey 
jist as you wor leavin’ on her, and cast us off a minute after- 
wards } He perfarred stoppin’ with us whilst you wor rummagin’ 
the hooker — he — he — ho — ho !” 

It was useless bandying words with the fellow ; and though I 
felt desperately savage, I had sense enough to hold my tongue. 
“ Pull smartly,” said one of the Plymouth officers ; “ a shot will 
bring her too yet.” 

‘‘ Why, ay,” rejoined the imperturbable seaman , “ it mout, if 


98 


THE PURSUIT. 


you could get speech of the admiral in time ; but I’m thinkin 
\Ye shall be a good while yet pullin’ in against this choppin’ wind 
and head sea.” 

And sure enough they were ! More than another hour, by 
some boatman-craft unexplainable by me, for the sailors appa- 
rently rowed with all their might, were we in reaching the 
landing-place ; and by that time all chance of compelling the 
return of the Columbia was long past. 

It would be, I knew, impossible to •prove, complicity on the 
part of the owner of the boat with the escaped felon, and I pre- 
ferred to digest the venom of my spleen in silence, rather than 
by a useless display of it to add to the chuckling delight of the 
old rascal of a boatman. 

We had passed some distance along the quay when one of the 
local officers, addressing a youngish sailor, who, with folded arms 
and a short pipe in his mouth was standing in philosophical con- 
templation of the sea and weather, said, “ I suppose there is no 
chance of the emigrant ship that sailed a while ago putting in at 
any other port along the coast 

The man took the pipe from his mouth, regarded the ques- 
tioner for a few moments with an expression of contemptuous 
curiosity anything but flattering to its object, and bawled out, 
addressing himself to a weather-beaten seaman a few yards off, 

I say, Tom Davis, here’s a Blue Bottle as wants to know the 
name and bearins of the . port off the Land’s End which the 
barkey that sailed awhile agone for Ameriker with a north-easter 
kicking her endways is likely to bring up in : I’m not acquainted 
with it myself or else I’d tell the gentleman.” 

The laugh from two or three bystanders which followed this 
sally greatly irritated the officer, and he would have indulged in 


THE PURSUIT. 


99 


an angry reply had not his more prudent comrade taken him hy 
tiie arm and urged him away. 

“ Ay, ay,” said the veteran addressed as Tom Davis, as we 
were passing him, ‘‘ Jim there has always got plenty of jawing 
tackle aboard ; but. Lord love ye, he’s a poor dumb cretur at 
understanding the signs of the weather-! He’s talkin’ about 
north-easters, and don’t see that the wind’s beginning to chop 
ibout like a bumbo at womanwith a dozen customers round her 
It’s my opinion, and Tom Davis ought by this time to be summut 
■)f a judge, that, instead of a north-easter, it’s a precious sight 
nore likely to be blowing a sou’-wester before two hours are 
past, and a sneezer too ; and then the Columhy^ if she ha’nt 
made a good offin’, which she is not likely to have done, will be 
back again in a brace of shakes.” 

“ Do you think it probable,” I eagerly asked, “ that the Co- 
lumbia will be obliged to put back into Plymouth 

“ I don’t know about 'probable. It’s not so sure as death or 
■ juarter-day, but it’s upon the cards for all that.” 

“ Will it be early in the night, think you, that she will run in, 
if at all 

“ Ah ! there now you wants to know too much said the old 
seaman turning on his heel. “ All I can say is, that if you find 
in an hour or so’s time that the wind has chopped round to the 
sou’-west, or within a p’int or two, and that it’s blowin’ the 
buttons olf your coat one after another, the Columby., if she’s 
lucky, wont be far off.” 

The half-bantering prediction of the old seaman was confirmed 
by others whom we consulted, and measures for preventing our 
quarry from landing, and again giving us the slip, were at once 
discussed and resolved upon. Wo then separated, and I pro- 
ceeded to the tavern at which I had put up to get some dinner 


100 


THE PURSUIT. 


I had not gone far when my eye fell upon two persons whose 
presence there surprised as well as somewhat grieved me. One 
was the young wife of the criminal on board the Columbia. 1 
had seen her once in London, and I knew, as before intimated, 
that she was of respectable parentage. There was no exultation 
in her countenance. She had no doubt followed or accompanied 
her husband to Plymouth for the purpose of furthering his es 
cape, and now feared that the capricious elements would render 
all the ingenuity and boldness that had been brought into play 
vain and profitless. She was a mild-looking, pretty woman — 
very much so, I doubt not, till trouble fell upon her, and won- 
derfully resembled the female in the “ Momentous Question 
so 1 ‘emarkably indeed, that when, years afterwards, I first saw 
that print, I felt an instantaneous conviction that I had some- 
where met with the original of the portrait ; and after much 
puzzlement of brain remembered when and where. The resem- 
blance was doubtless purely accidental ; but it was not the less 
extraordinary and complete. She was accompanied by a gray- 
haired man of grave, respectable exterior, whom I at once con- 
cluded to be her father. As I passed close by them, he ap- 
peai*ed about to address me, and I half-paused to hear what he 
had to say ; but his partly-formed purpose was not persisted in. 
and I proceeded on my way. 

After dining, I returned to the quay. The wind, as foretold, 
was blowing directly from the south-west ; and during the short 
pace of time I had been absent, had increased to a tempest 
rim wild sea was dashing with terrific violence against the break- 
w^ater, discernible only in the fast-darkening night by a line of 
white tumultuous foam and spray, which leaped and hissed 
tgainst and over it. 

“ A dirty night coming on,” said a subaltein officer of th^ 


‘I’ H E PURSUIT. 


lOl 


port whom I had previously spoken with ; “ the Cohmbia will, 
I think, be pretty sure to run in* with the tide.” 

“ When do you say is the very earliest time she may be ex- 
peeted 

‘‘ Well, in my opinion, judging from where she was when I 
was on the look-out a quarter of an hour agone, not under three 
hours. Let me see. It’s now just upon the stroke of five* 
about eight o’clock, I should say, she will be here ; certainl} 
not before, perhaps much later ; and if the captain is very ob- 
stinate, and prefers incurring a rather serious risk to returning, 
it may be of course not at all.” 

I thanked him, and as remaining on the bleak quay till eight 
o’clock or thereabout was as useless as unpleasant, I retraced my 
steps towards the Royal George Tavern ; calling in my way on 
the Plymouth ojB&cers, and arranging that one of them should 
relieve me at ten o’clock ; it having been previously agreed that 
we should keep an alternate watch during the night of two 
hours each. I afterwards remembered that this arrangement 
was repeated, in a tone of voice incautiously loud, at the bar of 
a public-house, where they insisted upon my taking a glass of 
porter. There were, I should say, more than a dozen person* 
present at the time. 

The fire was blazing brightly in the parlor of the Royal George 
when I entered, and I had not been seated near it many minutes 
before I became exceedingly drowsy ; and no wonder, for I had 
not been in bed the previous night, and the blowing of the wind 
in my eyes for a couple of hours had of course added greatly to 
their heavy weariness. Habit had long enabled me to awake at 
any moment I had previously determined on, so that I felt no 
anxiety as to oversleeping myself ; and having pulled out my 
watch, noticed that it was barely half-past five, wound it up, and 


THE PURSUIT. 


!U2 


placed it before me on the table, I settled myself comfortabljf 
in an arm-cbair, and was soon sound asleep. 

I awoke with a confused impression, not only that I had quite 
slept the time I had allotted myself, but that strangers were in 
the room and standing about me. I was mistaken in both par- 
ticulars. There was no one in the parlor but myself, and on 
glancing at the watch I saw that it was but a quarter-past six 
I rose from the chair, stirred the fire, took two or three turns 
about the room, listened for a few minutes to the howling wind 
and driving rain which shook and beat against the casement, sat 
down again, and took up a newspaper which was lying on the 
table. 

I had read for some time when the parlor door opened, and 
who should walk in but the young wife and elderly gentleman 
whom I had seen in the street. I at once concluded that they 
had sought me with reference to the fugitive on board the Co- 
kmbia ; and the venerable old man’s rather elaborate apologies 
for intrusion over, and both of them seated on the side of the 
fireplace opposite to me, I waited with grave curiosity to hear 
what they might have to say. 

An awkward silence ensued. The young woman’s eyes, 
swollen with weeping, were bent upon the fioor, and her entire?” 
aspect and demeanor exhibited extreme sorrow and dejection. 

I pitied her, so sad and gentle did she look, from my very soul. 
The old man appeared anxious and careworn, and for some time 
remained abstractedly gazing at the fii-e without speaking. I 
had a mind to avoid a painful, and, I was satisfied, profitless 
interview, by abruptly retiring ; and was just rising for the 
purpose when a fiercer tempest-blast than before, accompanied 
by the pattering of heavy rain-drops against the window-panes, 
caused me to hesitate at exposing myself unnecessarily to the 


the pursuit. 


103 


rigor' of sucli a night ; and at the same moment the gray-haired 
man suddenly raised his eyes and regarded me with a fixed and 
grave scrutiny. 

‘‘ This war of the elements,” he at last said ; “ this wild up- 
roar of physical nature, is hut a type, Mr. Waters, and a faint 
one, of the convulsions, the antagonisms, the hurtful conflicts 
ever raging in the moral world.” 

I bowed dubious assent to a proposition not apparently ver} 
pertinent to the subject, which I supposed chiefly occupied his 
mind, and he proceeded. 

“ It is difficult for dim-eyed beings such as we are always to 
trace the guiding hand of the ever-watchful Power which con- 
ducts the complex events of this changing, many-colored life to 
wise and foreseen issues. The conflicts of faith with actual ex- 
perience are hard for poor humanity to bear, and still keep un- 
impaired the jewel beyond price of unwavering trust in Him ta 
whom the secrets of all hearts are known. Ah, sir ! guilt, 
flaunting its vanities in high places — innocence in danger of 
fetters — are perplexing subjects to dwell upon !” 

I was somewhat puzzled by this strange talk, but, hopeful that 
a meaning would presently appear, I again silently intimated 
partial concurrence in his general views. 

“ There is no longer much doubt, Mr. Waters, I believe,” he 
after a few moments added in a much more business-like and 
sensible tone, “ that the Columbia will be forced back again, 
and that the husband of this unhappy girl will consequently fal 
into the hands of the blind, unreasoning law. . . .You appeal 
surprised. . . . My name, I should have mentioned, is Thomp- 
son ; and be assured, Mr. Waters, that when the real facts of 
this most unfortunate affair are brought to your knowledge, no 
one will more bitterly regr )t than yourself that this tempest and 


104 


THE PURSUIT. 


sudden change of wind sliould have flung back the prey both 
you and I believed had escaped upon these fatal shores.” 

“ From your name I presume you to be the father of this 
young woman, and ” 

“ Yes,” he interrupted ; “ and the father-in-law of the inno- 
cent man you have hunted down with such untiring activity and 
zeal. But I blame you not,” he added, checking himself — “ 1 
blame you not. You have only done what you held to be youi 
duty. But the ways of Providence are indeed inscrutable !” 

A passionate burst of grief from the pale, weeping wife testi 
fled that, whatever might be the fugitive husband’s ofiences or 
crimes against society, he at least retained htr affection and es- 
teem. 

“ It is very unpleasant,” I observed, “ to discuss such a 
subject in the presence of relatives of the inculpated person, 
especially as I as yet perceive no useful result likely to arise 
from it ; still, since you as it were force me to speak, you must 
permit me to say, that it appears to me you are either grossly 
deceived yourself, or attempting for some purpose or other to 
impose upon my credulity.” 

Neither, sir — neither,” replied Mr. Thompson with warmth. 
“ I certainly am not deceived myself, and I should hope that 
my character, which I doubt not is well known to you, will shield 
me from any suspicion of a desire to deceive others.” 

“ I am quite aware, Mr. Thompson, of your personal re- 
spectability ; still you. may be unwittingly led astray. I very 
much regret to say, that the evidence against your daughter’s 
husband is overwhelming, and I fear unanswerable.” 

The best, kindest of husbands !” broke in the sobbing 
wife ; ‘‘ the most injured, the most persecuted of men !” 

It is useless,” said I, rising and seizing my hat, “ to pi*o- 


THE PURSUIT. 


105 


long this conversation. If he he innocent, he will no doubt be 
acquitted ; but as it is now close upon half-past seven o’clock, I 
must beg to take my leave.” 

“ One moment, sii ” said Mr. Thompson hastily. “ To bo 
frank with you, it was entirely for the purpose of asking your 
advice as an experienced person that we are here. You have 
leard of this young man’s father 

“ Joel Masters ? — Yes. A gambler, and otherwise disrepu- 
table person, and one of the most specious rascals, I am told, 
under the sun.” 

“ You have correctly described him. You are not perhaps 
acquainted with his handwriting 

Yes, I am ; partially so at least. I have a note in my 
pocket — here it is — addressed to me by the artful old scoundrel 
for the purpose of luring me from the right track after his son.” 

“ Then, Mr. Waters, please to read this letter from him, 
dated Liverpool, where it appears he was yesterday to embark 
for America.” 

The letter Mr. Thompson placed in my hands startled me not 
a little. It was a circumstantial confession addressed by Joel 
Masters to his son, setting forth that he, the father, was alone 
guilty of the offence with which his unfortunate son was charged, 
and authorizing him to make a full disclosure should he fail in 
making his escape from the country. This was, I thought, an 
exceedingly cheap kind of generosity on the part of honest J oel, 
now that he had secured himself by flight from the penalties of 
justice. The letter went on to state where a large amount of 
bank-notes and acceptances, which the writer had been unable 
to change or discount, would be found. 

“ This letter,” said I, ‘‘ is a very importan one ; but where 
is the envelop ?■"* 


106 


THE PURSUIT. 


Mr. Thompsin searched his pocket-hook : it was not there. 
“ I must have dropped it,” he exclaimed, “ at my lodgings. 
Pray wait till I return. I am extremely anxious to convince 
you of this unfortunate young man’s innocence. I will not be 
more than a few minutes absent.” He then hurried out. 

I looked at my watch : it wanted five-and-twenty minutes to 
eight. “ I have hut a very few minutes to spare,” I observed 
to the still passionately grieving wife ; “ and as to the letter, yoi 
had better place it in the hands of the attorney for the defence.” 

“ Ah, sir,” sobbed the wife, raising her timid eyes towards 
me, “ you do not believe us or you would not be so eager to 
seize my husband.” 

“ Pardon me,” I replied, ‘‘ I have no right to doubt the trutl 
of what you have told me ; hut my duty is a plain one, and must 
be performed.” 

“ Tell me frankly, honestly,” cried the half-frantic woman 
with a renewed burst of tears, “ if, in your opinion, this evidence 
will save my unhappy, deeply-injured husband ? My father, I 
fear, deceives me- — deceives himself with a vain hope.” 

I hesitated to express a very favorable opinion of the effect of 
a statement, obnoxious, as a few moments’ reflection suggested, 
to so much suspicion. The wife quickly interpreted the mean- 
ing of my silence, and broke at once into a flood of hysterical 
lamentation. It was with the greatest difficulty I kept life in 
her by copious showers of water from the decanter that stood on 
the table. This endured some time. At last I said abruptly, 
for my watch admonished me that full ten minutes had been 
passed in this way, that I must summon the waiter and leave 
lier. 

“ (to — ^ go,” said she, suddenly rallying, “ since it must be so. 
[ — I will follow ” 


THE PURSUIT. 


107 


T immediately left the house, hastened to the quay, and, on . 
ari'iving there, strained my eyes seaward in search of the ex- 
pected ship. A large bark, which very much resembled her, 
was, to my dismay, riding at anchor within the breakwater, her 
sails furled, and everything made snug for the pight. I ran to 
the landing-steps, near which two or three sailors were standing. 

“ What vessel is that I asked, pointing to the one which 
had excited my alarm. 

‘‘ The Columhia^'* replied the man. 

“ The Columbia I Why, when did she arrive 

‘‘ Some time ago. The clock chimed a quarter-past eight as 
the captain and a few of the passengers came on shore.” 

“ A quarter-past eight ! Why, it wants nearly half an houi 
to that now !” 

“ Does it though } Before you are ten minutes older you’U 
hear the clock strike nine !” 

The man’s words were followed by a merry mocking laugh 
close to my elbow : I turned sharply round, and for the first and 
last time in my life felt an almost irresistible temptation to strike 
a woman. There stood the meek, dove-eyed, grief-stricken wife 
I had parted from but a few minutes before, gazing with brazen 
impudence in my face. 

“ Perhaps, Mr. Waters,” said she with another taunting laugh, 
‘‘ perhaps yours is London time ; or, which is probably more 
likely, watches sometimes sleep for an hour or so as well as their 
owners.” She then skipped gaily off. 

“ Are you a Mr. Waters .?” said a custom-house official who 
was parading the quay. 

“ Yes — and what then .?” 

“ Only that a Mr. Joel Masters desired me to say that he was 
very mu3h grieved he could not return to finish the evening with 


108 


THE PURSUIT. 


you, as he and his sou were unfortunately obliged to leave I'h 
mouth immediately.” 

it would have been a real pleasure to have flung the speaker 
over the quay. By a great effort I denied myself the tempting 
luxury, and walked away in a fever of rage. Neither Joel 
Masters nor his son could afterwards be found, spite of the un- 
remitting efforts of myself and others, continued through several 
weeks. They both ultimately escaped to America ; and some 
years afterwards I learned through an unexpected channel that 
the canting, specious old rascal was at length getting his deserts 
in the establishment of Sing-Sing. The son, the same informant 
assured me, had, through the persuasions and influence of his 
wife, who probably thought justice might not be so pleasantly 
eluded another time, turned over a new leaf, and was leading ac 
honest and prosperous life at Cincinnati 


£ g It i . 


LEGAL METAMORPHOSES 

The respectable agent of a rather eminent French house 
arrived one morning in great apparent distress at Scotland 
Yard, and informed the superintendent that he had just sus- 
tained a great, almost ruinous loss, in notes of the Bank of 
England and commercial bills of Exchange, besides a considera- 
ble sum in gold. He had, it appeared, been absent in Paris 
about ten days, and on his return but a few hours previously, 
discovered that his iron chest had been completely rifled during 
his absence. False keys must have been used, as the empty 
chest was found locked, and no sign of violence could be ob- 
served. He handed in full written details of the property car- 
ried off, the numbers of the notes, and every other essentia] 
particular. The first step taken was to ascertain if any of . the 
notes had been tendered at the bank. Not one had been pre- 
sented; payment was of course stopped, and advertisements 
descriptive of the bills of exchange, as well as of the notes, 
were inserted in the evening and following morning papers. A 
day or two afterwards, a considerable reward was ofiered for 
such information as might lead to the apprehension of the 
oflcnders. No result followed ; and spite of the active exer- 
tions of the officers employed, not the slightest clue could be 
obtained to the perpetrators of the robbery. The junior part- 
ner in the firm, M. Bellebon, in the meantime arrived in Eng- 
land, to assist in the investigation, and was naturally extremely 


no 


L E (i A 


METAMORPHOSES. 


urgent in his inquiries ; but the mystery which enveloped the 
affair remained impenetrable. At last a letter, bearing the St. 
Martin le Grand post-mark, was received by the agent, M. 
Alexandre le Breton, which contained an offer to surrender the 
whole of the plunder, with the exception of the gold, for the 
sum of one thousand pounds. The property which had been 
abtsracted was more than ten times that sum, and had been 
destined by the French hmse to meet some heavy liabilities 
falling due in London very shortly. Le Breton had been or- 
dered to pay the whole amount into Hoare’s to the account of 
the firm, and had indeed been severely blamed for not having 
done so as he received the different notes and bills ; and it was 
on going to the chest immediately on his return from Paris, for 
the purpose of fulfilling the peremptory instructions he had 
received, that M. le Breton discovered the robbery. 

The letter went on to state that should the offer be acceded 
to, a mystically worded advertisement — of which a copy was 
enclosed — was to be inserted in the Times,” and then a mode 
would be suggested for safety — in the interest of the thieves of 
course — carrying the agreement into effect. M. Bellebon was 
half-inclined to close with this proposal, in order to save the 
credit of the house, which would be destroyed unless its accept- 
ances, now due in about fourteen days, could be met ; and with- 
out the stolen moneys and bills of exchange, this was, he feared, 
impossible. The superintendent, to whom M. Bellebon showed 
the letter, would not hear of compliance with such a demand, 
and threatened a prosecution for composition of felony if M 
Bellebon persisted in doing so. The advertisement was, how- 
ever, inserted, and an immediate re|»ly directed that le Breton, 
the agent, should present himself at the old Manor-house, 
Green Lanes. Newington, unattended, at four o’clock on the 


LEGAL METAMORPHOSES. 


Ill 


following afternoon, bringing with him of course the stipulated 
sum in gold. It was added, that to prevent any possible trea- 
son {trahison^ the letter was written in French,) Le Breton 
would find a note for him at the tavern, informing him of the 
spot — a solitary one, and far away from any place where an 
ambush could be concealed — where the business would be con- 
eluded, and to which he must proceed unaccompanied, and on 
foot ! This proposal was certainly quite as ingenious as it was 
eool, and the chance of outwitting such cunning rascals seemed 
exceedingly doubtful. A very tolerable scheme was, however, 
ftit upon, and M. le Breton proceeded at the appointed hour to 
the Old Manor-House. No letter or message had been left for 
him, and nobody obnoxious to the slightest suspicion could be 
seen near or about the tavern. On the following day another 
missive arrived, which stated that the writer was quite aware 
of the trick which the police had intended playing him, and he 
assured M. Bellebon that such a line of conduct was as unwise 
as it would be fruitless, inasmuch as if “ good faith” was not 
observed, the securities and notes would be inexorably destroyed 
or otherwise disposed of, and the house of Bellebon and Com- 
oany be consequently exposed to the shame and ruin of bank- 
'•uptcy. 

Just at this crises of the affair I arrived in town from my 
unsuccessful hunt after the fugitives who had slipped through 
my fingers at Plymouth. The superintendent laughed heartily, 
not so much at the trick by which I had been duped, as at tho 
angry mortification I did not affect to conceal. He presently 
added, I have been wishing for your return, in order to in- 
trust you with a tangled affair, in which success will amply com- 
pensate for such a disappointment. You know French too, 
vhich is fortunate ; for tlu gentleman who has been plundered 
8 


112 


LEGAL METAMORPHOSES. 


understands little or no English.” He then related the fore* 
going particulars, with other apparently slight circumstances , 
and after a long conversation with him, I retired to think the 
matter over, and decide upon the likeliest mode of action. 
After much cogitation, I determined to see M. Bellebon aloTie, 
and for this purpose I despatched the waiter of a tavern adja- 
cent to his lodgings, with a note expressive of my wish to see 
him instantly on pressing business. He was at home, and im- 
mediately acceded to my request. I easily introduced myself ; 
and after about a quarter of an hour’s conference, said care- 
lessly— for I saw he was too heedless of speech, too quick and 
frank, to be intrusted with the dim suspicions which certain 
trifling indices had suggested to me — “ Is Monsieur le Breton 
at the office where the robbery was committed 

“ No : he is gone to Grreenwich on business, and will not re- 
turn till late in the evening. But if you wish to re-examine 
the place, I can of course enable you to do so.” 

“ It will, I think, be advisable ; and you will, if you please,” 
I added, as we emerged into the street, permit me to take 

you by the arm, in order that the official character of my visit 

may not be suspected by any one there.” 

He laughingly complied, and we arrived at the house arm in 
arm. We were admitted by an elderly woman; and there was 
a young man — a moustached clerk — seated at a desk in an 
inner room writing. He eyed me for a moment, somewhat 
askance I thought, but I gave him no opportunity for a distinct 
view of my features ; and I presently handed M. Bellebon a 
card, on' which I had contrived to write, unobserved, “ send 
away the clerk.” This was more naturally done*than I antici- 
pated ; and in answer to M. Bellebon ’s glance of inquiry, 1 

merely said, “ that as I did not wish to be known there as a 


LEGAL M E T A M O R P H O B E 8. 


113 


police-officer, it was essential that the minute search T was ahoui 
to make should be without witnesses.” He agreed ; and tha 
woman was also sent away upon a distant errand. Every con- 
ceivable place did I ransack ; every scrap of paper that had 
writing on it I eagerly perused. At length the search was 
over, apparently without result. 

“ You are quite sure. Monsieur Bellebon, as you informed 
the superintendent, that Monsieur le Breton has no female re- 
lations or acquaintances in this country 

“ Positive,” he replied. “ I have made the most explicit 
inquiries on the subject both of the clerk Dubarie and of the 
woman-servant. ” 

Just then the clerk returned, out of breath with haste I 
noticed, and I took my leave without even^ now affording the 
young gentleman so clear a view of my face as he was evi- 
dently anxious to obtain. 

‘‘ No female acquaintance !” thought I, as I re-entered the 
private room of the tavern I had left an hour before. “ From 
whom came, then, these scraps of perfumed note-paper I have 
found in his desk I wonder I sat down and endeavored to 
piece them out, but after considerable trouble, satisfied myself 
that they were parts of different notes, and so small, unfortu- 
nately, as to contain nothing which separately afforded any in- 
formation except that they were all written by one hand, and 
that a female one. 

About two hours after this I was sauntering along in the di- 
ection of Stoke-Newington, where I was desirous of making 
some inquiries as to another matter, and had passed the Kings- 
law Grate a few hundred yards, when a small discolored printed 
handbill, lying in a haberdasher’s shop window, arrested my at- 
tention. It ran thus : — “ Two guineas reward. — Lost, an Italian 


9 


114 


LEGAL M E r A M 0 K P H O S E S . 


grejfliouud. The tip of its tail has been chopped off, and it 
answers to the name of Fidele.” Underneath, the reader was 
told in writing to ‘‘ inquire within.” 

“ Fidele !” I mentally exclaimed. “ Any relation to M. le 
Breton’s fair correspondent’s Fidele, I wonder In a twink- 
ling my pocket-book was out, and I reperused by the gas-light 
on one of the perfumed scraps of paper the following portion 

of a sentence, “ ma pauvre Fidele est per’’’’ . The bill, I 

observed, was dated nearly three- weeks previously. I forth- 
with entered the shop, and pointing to the bill, said I knew a 
person who had found such a dog as was there advertised for. 
The woman at the counter said she was glad to hear it, as the 
lady, formerly a customer of theirs, was much grieved at the 
animal’s loss. • 

‘‘ What is the lady’s name I asked. 

“ I can’t rightly pronounce the name,” was the reply. “ I- 
is French, I believe ; but here it is, with the address, in the 
day-book, written by herself.” 

I eagerly read — “ Madame Levasseur, Oak Cottage ; about 
one mile on the road from Edmonton to Southgate.” The 
hand-writing greatly resembled that on the scraps I had taken 
from M. le Breton’s desk ; and the writer was French too ! 
Here were indications of a trail which might lead to unhoped- 
for success, and I determined to follow it up vigorously After 
one or two other questions, I left the shop, promising to send 
the dog to the lady the next day. My business at Stoke-Ne wing- 
ton was soon accomplished. I then hastened westward to the 
establishment of a well-known dog-fancier, and procured the 
loan, at a reasonable price, of an ugly Italian hound : the re- 
quisite loss of the tip of its tail was very speedily accomplished, 
an! so quickly healed, that the newness of the excision could 


LEGAL MErAMORPHOSES. 


115 


Qot be suspected. I arrived at the lady’s residence aboat 
twelve o’clock on the following day, so thoroughly disguised as 
a vagabond Cockney dog-stealer, that my own wife, when I en- 
tered the breakfast parlor just previous to starting, screaroed 
with alarm and surprise. The mistress of Oak Cottage was at 
home, but indisposed, and the servant said she would take the 
dog to her, though, if I would take it out of the basket, she 
herself could tell me if it was Fidele or not. I replied that I 
would only show the dog to the lady, and would not trust it out 
of my hands. This message was carried up stairs, and after 
waiting some time outside — for the woman, with natural pre- 
caution, considering my appearance, for the safety of the porta- 
ble articles lying about, had closed the street-door in my face — 
I was readmitted, desired to wipe my shoes carefully, and walk 
up. Madame Levasseur, a showy looking woman, though not 
over-refined in speech or manners, was seated on a sofa, in ve- 
hement expectation of embracing her dear Fidele ; but my vag- 
abond appearance so startled her, that she screamed loudly for 
her husband, M. Levasseur. This gentleman, a fine, tall, 
whiskered, moustached person, hastened into the apartment 
half-shaved, and with his razor in his hand. 

“ Qu’est ce qu’il y a done he demanded. 

“ Mais voyez cette horreur la,” replied the lady, meaning 
me, not the dog, which I was slowly emancipating from the 
basket-kennel. The gentleman laughed ; and reassured by the 
presence of her husband, Madame Levasseur’s anxieties con- 
centrated themselves upon the expected Fidele. 

“ Mais, mon Dieu !” she exclaimed again as I displayed the 
aged beauty T had brought for her inspection, “ why, that is 
cot Fidele !” 

“ Not, marm I answered, with quite innocent surprise 


116 


LEGAL ItlETAMORPHOSEft. 


“ Yjj ere is her wery tail and I held up the mutilated ex- 
tremity for her closer inspection. The lady was not, however, 
to be convinced even by that evidence ; and as the gentleman 
soon became impatient of my persistence, and hinted very intei- 
\igibly that he had a mind to hasten my passage down stairs 
with the toe of his boot, I, having made the best possible use 
f my eyes during the short interview, scrambled up the dog 
nd basket, and departed. 

“ No female relative or acquaintance hasn’t he was my 
exulting thought as I gained the road. “ x\nd yet if that is not 
M. le Breton’s picture between those of the husband and wife, 
I am a booby, and a blind one.” I no longer in the least 
doubted that I had struck a brilliant trail ; and T could have 
shouted with exultation, so eager was I not only to retrieve my, 
IS I fancied, somewhat tarnished reputation for activity and 
skill, but to extricate the plundered firm from their terrible 
difficulties; the more especially as young M. Bellebon, with the 
frankness of his age and nation, had hinted to me — and the 
suddenly tremulous light of his fine expressive eyes testified to 
the acuteness of his apprehensions — that his marriage with a 
long-loved and amiable girl depended upon his success in saving 
the credit of his house. 

That same evening, about nine o’clock, M. Levasseur, ex- 
pensively, but withal snobbishly attired, left Oak Cottage, walk- 
ed to Edmonton, hailed a cab, and drove off rapidly towards 
town, followed by an English swell as stylishly and snobbishly 
dressed, wigged, whiskered, and moustached as himself: this 
English swell being no other than myself, as prettily metamor- 
phosed and made up for the part I intended playing as heart 
oould wish. 

^I. Levasseur descended at the end of the Quadrant, Regent 


LfiGAL MEl'A\iORPHOSES. 


117 


Street, and took liis way to Yine Street, leading out of that 
eelebrated thorouglifare. I followed; and observing him enter 
a public house, unhesitatingly did the same. It was a house of 
call and general rendezvous for foreign servants out of place. 
Valets, couriers, cooks, of many varieties of shade, nation, and 
respectability, were assembled there, smoking, drinking, and 
playing at an insufferably noisy game, unknown, I believe, to 
Englishmen, and which must, I think, have been invented in 
sheer despair of cards, dice, or other implements of gambling. 
The sole instruments of play were the gamester’s fingers, of 
which the two persons playing suddenly and simultaneously up- 
lifted as many, or as few, as they pleased, each player alter- 
nately calling a number ; and if he named precisely how many 
fingers were held up by himself and opponent, he marked a 
point. The hubbub of cries — “cinq,” “neuf,” “ dix,” &c. — 
was deafening. The players — almost. every body in the large 
room — were too much occupied to notice our entrance ; and M. 
Levasseur and myself seated ourselves, and called for something 
to drink, without, I was glad to see, exciting the slightest obser- 
vation. M. Levasseur, I soon perceived, was an intimate ac- 
quaintance of many there ; and somewhat to my surprise, for he 
spoke French very well, I found that he was a Swiss. His name 
was, I therefore concluded, assumed. Nothing positive reward- 
ed my watchfulness that evening ; but I felt quite sure Levas- 
seur had come there with the expectation of meeting some one, 
as he did not play, and went away about half past eleven o’clock ^ 
with an obviously discontented air. The following night it was 
the same ; but the next, who should peer into the room about 
half past ten, and look cautiously round, but M. Alexandre le 
Breton ! The instant the eyes of the friends met, Levasseur 
rose and went out. T hesitated to follow, lest such a movement 


118 


LEGAL METAMORPHOSES. 


might excite suspicion ; and it was well I did not, as they both 
presently returned, and seated themselves close by my side. 
The anxious, haggard countenance of Le Breton — who had, T 
should have before stated, been privately pointed out to me by 
one of the force early on the morning I visited Oak Cottage — 
struck me forcibly, especially in contrast with that of Levas- 
eeur, which wore only an expression of malignant and ferocious 
triumph, slightly dashed by temporary disappointment. Le 
Breton stayed but a short time ; and the only whispered words 
I caught were — He has, I fear, some suspicion.” 

The anxiety and impatience of M. Belle'bon whilst this was 
going on became extreme, and he sent me note after note — the 
only mode of communication I would permit — expressive of his 
consternation at the near approach of the time when the en- 
gagements of his house would arrive at maturity, without any- 
thing having in the meantime been accomplished. I pitied him 
greatly, and after some thought and hesitation, resolved upon a 
new and bolder game. By affecting to drink a great deal, occa- 
sionally playing, and in other ways exhibiting a reckless, devil- 
may-care demeanor, I had striven to insinuate myself into the 
confidence and companionship of Levasseur, but hitherto with- 
out much effect ; and although once I could see, startled by a 
casual hint I dropped to another person — one of ours — just 
sufficiently loud for him to hear — that I knew a sure and safe 
market for stopped Bank of England notes, the cautious scoun- 
drel quickly subsided into his usual guarded reserve. He evi- 
dently doubted me, and it was imperatively necessary to re 
move those doubts. This was at last effectually, and, I am vain 
enough to think, cleverly done. One evening a rakish looking 
man, who ostentatiously and repeatedly declared himself to be 
Mr. Trelawney of Conduit Street, and who was evidently three 


LEGAL METAMORPHOSES. 


119 


parts intoxicated, seated himself directly in front of an<l 
with much braggart impudence boasted of his money, at the 
same time displaying a pocket-book, which seemed pretty full 
of Bank of England notes. There were only a few persons 
present in the room besides us, and they were at the other end 
of the room. Levasseur, I saw, noticed with considerable in- 
terest the look of .greed and covetousness which 1 fixed on that 
same pocket-book. At length the stranger rose to depart, 
also hurried up and slipped after him, and was quietly and slyly 
followed by Levasseur. After proceeding about a dozen paces 
I looked furtively about, but not behind ; robbed Mr. Trelaw- 
ney of his pocket-book, which he had placed in one of the tails 
of his coat ; crossed over the street, and walked hurriedly away, 
still, I could hear, followed by Levasseur. I entered another 
public-house, strode into an empty back-room, and was just in 
the act of examining my prize, when in stepped Levasseur. He 
looked triumphant as Lucifer, as he clapped me on the shoul- 
der, and said in a low exulting voice, “ I saw that pretty trick, 
Williams, and can, if I like, transport you !” 

My consternation was naturally extreme, and Levasseur 
laughed immensely at the terror he excited. “ Soyez tran- 
quille,” he said at last, at the same time ringing the bell : I 
shall not hurt you.” He ordered some wine, and after the 
waiter had fulfilled the order and left the room, said, “ Those 
notes of Ml Trelawney’s will of course be stopped in the morn- 
ing, but I think I once heard you say you knew of a market 
for such articles 

I hesitated, coyly unwilling to further commit myself Come, 
come,” resumed Levasseur in a still low but menacing tone, 
“ no nonsense. I have you now ; you are, in fact, entirely in my 
power ; but be candid, and you are safe. Who is your friend 


120 


EGAL MEtAMORPriiSES. 


“ Tie Is not in town now,” I stammered. 

“ Stuff — humbug ! 1 have myself some notes to change. 

There, now we understand each other. What does he give, 
and how does he dispose of them 

“ He gives about a third generally, and gets rid of them 
abroad. They reach the Bank through hona fide and innocent 
olders, and in that case the Bank is of course bound to pay.” 

“ Is that the law also with respect to bills of exchange .^” 

“ Yes, to be sure it is.” 

And is amount of any consequence to your friend .^” 

“ None, I believe, whatever.” 

“ Well, then, you must introduce me to him.” 

“ No, that I can’t,” I hurriedly answered. “ He wont deal 
with strangers.” 

“ You must^ I tell you, or I will call an officer.” Terrified 
by this threat, I muttered that his name was Levi Samuel. 

And where does Levi Samuel live .?” 

“ That,” I replied, “ I cannot tell ; but I know how to com- 
municate with him.” 

Finally, it was settled by Levasseur that I should dine at 
Oak Cottage the next day but one, and that I should arrange 
with Samuel to meet us there immediately afterwards. The 
notes and bills he had to dispose of, I was to inform Samuel, 
amounted to nearly twelve thousand pounds, and I was prom- 
ised £500 for effecting the bargain. 

“ Five hundred pounds, remember, Williams,” said Levas- 
eur as we parted ; “ or, if you deceive me, transportation : 
You can prove nothing regarding w.6, whereas, I could settle 
you off hand.” 

The superintendent and I had a long and rather anxious con- 
ference the next day. We agreed that, situate as Oak Cottage 


LEGAL METAMORPHOSES. 


121 


vfas, in an open space away from any other building, it would 
not be advisable that any officer except myself and the pre- 
tended Samuel should approach the place. We also agreed as 
to the probability of such clever rogues having so placed the 
notes and bills that they could be consumed or otherwise de- 
stroyed on the slightest alarm, and that the open arrest of Le- 
vasseur, and a search of Oak Cottage, would in all likelihood 
prove fruitless. “ There will be only two of them,” I said in 
reply to a remark of the superintendent as to the somewhat 
dangerous game I was risking with powerful and desperate men, 
“ even should Le Breton be there ; and surely Jackson and I, 
aided by the surprise and our pistols, will be too many for 
them.” Little more was said, the superintendent wished us 
luck, and I sought out and instructed Jackson. 

I will confess that, on setting out the next day to keep my 
appointment, I felt considerable anxiety. Levasseur viighl have 
discovered my vocation, and set this trap for my destruction. 
Yet that was hardly possible. At all events, whatever the dan- 
ger, it was necessary to face it ; and having cleaned and loaded 
my pistols with unusual care, and bade my wife a more than 
usually earnest farewell, which, by the way, rather startled her, 
I set off, determined, as we used to say in Yorkshire, “ to win 
the horse or lose the saddle.” 

I arrived in good time at Oak Cottage, and found my host 
in the highest possible spirits. Dinner was ready, he said, but 

would be necessary to wait a few minutes for the two friends 
e expected. 

“ Two friends !” I exclaimed, really startled. “You told me 
last evening there was to be only one, a Monsieur le Breton.” 

“ True,” rejoined Levasseur carelessly ; “ but I had forgotten 
that another party as much interested as ourselves would like 


122 


LEGAL METAMORPHOSES. 


to be present, and invite himself, if I did not. But there will 
be enough for us all, never fear,” he added with a coarse laugh. 
“ especially as Madame Levasseur does not dine with us.” 

At this moment a loud knock was heard. ‘‘ Here they are !” 
exclaimed Levasseur, and hastened out to meet them. I peep- 
ed through the blind, and to my great alarm saw that Le Breton 
was accompanied by the clerk Dubarle ! My first impulse was to 
seize my pistols and rush out of the house ; but calmer thoughts 
soon succeeded, and the improl^ability that a plan had been laid 
to entrap me recurred forcibl} Still, should the clerk recog- 
nize me } The situation was undoubtedly a critical one ; but I 
was in for it, and must therefore brave the matter out in the 
best way I could. 

Presently a conversation, carried on in a loud, menacing tone 
in the next room between Levasseur and the new comers, ar- 
rested my attention, and I softly approached the door to listen. 
Le Breton, I soon found, was but half a villain, and was ex- 
tremely anxious that the property should not be disposed of till 
at least another epbrt had been made at negotiation. The oth- 
ers, now that a market for the notes and securities had been 
obtained, were determined to avail themselves of it, and imme- 
diately leave the country. The almost agonized intreaties of 
Le Breton that they would not utterly ruin the house he had 
betrayed, were treated with scornful contempt, and he was at 
length silenced by their brutal menaces. Le Breton, I further 
learned, was a cousin of Madame Levasseur, whose husband 
had first pillaged him at play, and then suggested the crini 
which had been committed as the sole means of concealing the 
defalcations of which he, Levasseur, had been the occasion and 
promoter. 

After a brief delay, all three entered the dining-room, and a 


LEGAL METAMORPHOSES 


123 


slight but significant start which the clerk Dubarle gave, as Le- 
vasseur, with mock ceremony, introduced me, made my heart, 
as folk say, leap into my mouth. His half-formed suspicions 
seemed, however, to be dissipated for the moment by the hu- 
morous account Levasseur gave him of the robbery of Mr. Tre- 
lawney, and we sat down to a very handsome dinner. 

A more uncomfortable one, albeit, I never assisted at. The 
furtive looks of Dubarle, who had been only partially reas- 
sured, grew more and more inquisitive and earnest. Fortu- 
nately Levasseur was in rollicking spirits and humor, and did 
not heed the unquiet glances of the young man ; and as for Le 
Breton, he took little notice of anybody. At last this terrible 
dinner was over, and the wine was pushed briskly round. I 
drank much more freely than usual, partly with a view to calm 
my nerves, and partly to avoid remark. It was nearly the time 
for the Jew’s appearance, when Dubarle, after a scrutinizing 
and somewhat imperious look at my face, said abruptly, “ I 
think, Monsieur Williams, I have seen you somewhere before 

“ Very likely,” I replied with as much indifference as I 
could assume. “ Many persons have seen me before — some of 
them once or twice too often.” 

“ True !” exclaimed Levasseur with a shout. “ Trelawney, 
for instance !” 

“ I should like to see Monsieur with his wig off!” said the 
clerk with increasing insolence 

“ Nonsense, Dubarle ; you are a fool,” exclaimed Levasseur , 
‘ and I will not have my good friend Williams insulted.” 

Dubarle did not persist, but it was plain enough that some 
dim remembrance of my features continued to haunt and per- 
plex him. 

At length, and the relief was unspeakable, a knock at the 


V24 


LEGAL METAMORPHOSES. 


outer door aimouiiced Jaek.son — Levi Samuel, I mean. W e all 
jumped up, and ran to the window. It was the Jew sure 
enough, and admirably he had dressed and now looked the part. 
Levasseur went out, and in a minute or two returned • intro- 
ducing him. Jackson could not suppress a start as he caught 
} ight of the tall, moustached addition to the expected company • 
and although he turned it off very well, it drove the J ewish dia 
lect in which he had been practising completely out of his 
thoughts and speech, as he said, “ You have more company 
than my friend ^Williams led me to expect ?” 

“ A friend — one friend extra, Mr. Samuel,” said Levasseur ; 
“ that is all. Come, sit down, and let me help you to a glass 
of wine. You are an English Jew I perceive 

“ Yes.” 

A silence of a minute or two succeeded, and then Levasseur 
said, “You are of course prepared for business .^” 

“ Yes — that is, if you are reasonable.” 

“ Reasonable ! the most reasonable men in the world,” re- 
joined Levasseur with a loud laugh. “ But pray where is the 
gold you mean to pay us with .?” 

“ If we agree, I will fetch it in half an hour. I do not carry 
bags of sovereigns about with me into all companies,” replied 
Jackson with much readiness. 

“ Well, that’s right enough : and now how much discount do 
you charge .^” 

“ I will tell you when I see the securities.” 

Levasseur rose without another word, and left the apartment 
He was gone about ten minutes, and on his return, deliberately 
counted out the stolen Bank of England notes and bills of Ex- 
change. Jackson got up from his chair, peered close to them, 
nd began noting down tl b amounts in his pocket-book. I also 


LEGAL METAMORPHOSES 


125 


rose, and pretended to be looking at a picture by the fire-place. 
The moment was a nervous one, as the signal had been agreed 
upon, and could not now be changed or deferred. The clerk 
Dubarle also hastily rose, and eyed Jackson with fiaming but 
indecisive looks. The examination of the securities was at 
length terminated, and Jackson began counting the Bank of 
England notes aloud — ‘‘ One — two — three — four — five!” As 
the signal woi’d passed his lips, he throw himself upon Le Bre- 
ton, who sat next to him ; and at the same moment I p*<,ssed 
one of my feet between Dubarle ’s, and with a dexterous twist 
hurled him violently on the fioor ; another instant and my grasp 
was on the throat of Levasseur, and my pistol at his ear. “ Hur- 
rah I” we both shouted with eager excitement ; and before 
either of the villains could recover from his surprise, or indeed 
perfectly comprehend what had happened, Levasseur and L" 
Breton were hand-cuffed, and resistance was out of the ques- 
tion. Young Dubarle was next easily secured. 

J^evasseur, the instant he recovered the use of his faculties, 
which the completeness and suddenness of the surprise and 
attack had paralysed, yelled like a madman with rage and an- 
ger, and but for us, would, I verily believe, have dashed his 
brains out against the walls of the room. The other two were 
calmer, and having at last thoroughly pinioned and secured 
them, and carefully gathered up the recovered plunder, we left 
Oak Cottage in triumph, letting ourselves out, for the woman- 
servant had gone off, doubtless to acquaint her mistress with the 
disastrous turn affairs had taken. No inquiry was made after 
either of them. 

An hour afterwards the prisoners were securely locked up, 
and I hurried to acquaint M. Bellebon with the fortunate issue 
of our enterprise. His exultation, it will be readily believed 


A 


LEGAL METAMORPHOSEIS. 


was unbounded ; and I left him busy with letters to the firm, 
and doubtless one to “ cette chore et aimable Louise,” an- 
nouncing the joyful news. 

The prisoners, after a brief trial, which many readers of this 
narrative may perhaps remember, were convicted of felonious 
conspiracy, and were all sentenced to ten years’ transportation. 
Le Breton’s sentence, the judge told him, would have been for 
life, but for the contrition he had exhibited shortly before his 
apprehension. 

As Levasseur passed me on leaving the dock, he exclaimed 
in French, and in a desperately savage tone, “ I will repay you 
for this when I return, and that infernal Trelawney too.” I 
am too much accustomed to threats of this kind to be in any 
way moved by them, and I therefore contented myself b? 
smiling, and a civil “ Au revoh- — aliens”’ 


n I . 


THE REVENGE. 

<8EUR and his confederates sailed for the penal settlements 
\U \U, ill-fated convict-ship, the Amjphytrion^ the total wreck of 
whhjh on the coast of France, and consequent drowning of the 
ODW >\*iid prisoners, excited so painful a sensation in England. 
A feeUng of regret for the untimely fate of Le Breton, whom I 
regardea rather as a weak dupe than a purposed rascal, passed 
over my mind as I read the announcement in the newspapers ; 
but newer events had almost jostled the incidents connected with 
his name from my remembrance, when a terrible adventure 
vividly recallen them, and taught me how fierce and un tame- 
able are the inst’ucts of hate and revenge in a certain class of 
minds 

A robbery of plaje had been committed in Portman Square 
with an ingenuity ana boldness which left no doubt that it had 
been effected by cle^vr and practised hands. The detective 
officers first employed having failed to discover the offenders, 
the threads of the imperfect and broken clue were placed in my 
bands, to see if my somewhat renowned dexterity, or luck, as 
many of my brother officers preferred calling it, would enable 
me to piece them out to a satisfactory conclusion. By the de- 
scription obtained of a man who had been seen lurking about 
the house a few days previous to the burglary, it had been con- 
cluded by my predecessors in the investigation that one Martin, 
a fellow with half a dozen aliases, and a well-known traveler on 
9 


128 


THE REVENGE. 


the road to the hulks, was concerned in the affair ; and by their 
advice a reward of fifty pounds had been offered for his appre- 
hension and conviction. I prosecuted the inquiry with my usual 
energy and watchfulness, without alighting upon any new fact o' 
intimation of importance. I could not discover that a single 
article of the missing property had been either pawned or offered 
for sale, and little doubt remained that the crucible had fatally 
diminished the chances of detection. The only hope was, tha+ 
an increased reward might induce one of the gang to betray his 
confederates ; and as the property was of large value, this was 
done, and one hundred guineas was promised for the required 
information. I had been to the printer’s to order the placards 
announcing the increased recompense ; and after indulging in a 
long gossip with the foreman of the establishment, whom I knew 
well, was passing at about a quarter-past ten o’clock through 
Ryder’s Court, Newport Market, where a tall man met and 
passed me swiftly, holding a handkerchief to his face. There 
was nothing remarkable in that, as the weather was bitterly cold 
and sleety ; and I walked unheedingly on. I was just in the 
act of passing out of the court towards Leicester Squai>e, when 
swift steps sounded suddenly behind me. I instinctively turned , 
and as I did so, received a violent blow on the left shoulder — 
intended, I doubted not, for the nape of my neck — from the tall 
individual who had passed me a minute previously. As he still 
held the handkerchief to his face, I did not catch even a mo- 
mentary glance at his features, and he ran off with surprising 
speed. The blow, sudden, jarring, and inflicted with a sharp 
instrument — by a strong knife or a dagger — caused a sensation 
of faintness ; and before I recovered from it all chance of suc- 
cessful pursuit was at an end. The wound, which was not at 
%11 serious, I had dressed a* a chemist’s shop in the Haymarket ; 


IHE REVENGE. 


129 


5-nd as proclaiming the attack would do nothing towards detecting 
the perpetrator of it, I said little about it to any one, and man- 
aged to conceal it entirely from my wife, to whom it would have 
suggested a thousand painful apprehensions whenever I happened 
to be unexpectedly detained from home. The brief glimpse I 
had of the balked assassin afforded no reasonable indication of 
his identity. To be sure he ran at an amazing and unusual 
pace, but this was a qualification possessed by so many of the 
light-legged as well as light-fingered gentry of my professional 
acquaintance, that it could not justify even a random suspicion ; 
and I determined to forget the unpleasant incident as soon as 
possible. 

The third evening after this occurrence 1 was again passing 
along Leicester Square at a somewhat late hour, but this time 
with all my eyes about me. Snow, which the wind blew sharply 
in one’s face, was falling fast, and the cold was intense. Except 
myseit, dii l tallish snow-wreathed figure — a woman apparently 
— not a living oeing was to be seen. This figure, which was 
.standing still at the further side of the square, appeared to be 
awaiting me, and as I drew near it, cnrow back the hood of a 
cloak, and to my great surprise disclosed the features of a 
Madame Jaubert. This lady, some years before, had carried 
on, not very far from the spot where she now stood, a respect- 
aole millinery business. She was a widow with one child, a 
daughter of about seven years of age. Marie-Louise, as she 
was named, was one unfortunate day sent to Coventry Street 
n an errand with some money in her hand, and never returned. 
The inquiries set on foot proved utterly without effect : not the 
slightest intelligence of the fate of the child was obtained— and 
the grief and distraction of the bereaved mother resulted in 
temporary insanity. She was confin ^d in a lunatic asylum for 


130 


r 1* £ K £ V E N G J£ . 


seven or eight months, and when pronounced convalescent, found 
herself homeless, and almost penniless, in the world. This sad 
story I had heard from one of the keepers of the asylum during 
her sojourn there. It was a subject she herself never, I was 
aware, touched upon ; and she had no reason to suspect that I 
was in the slightest degree informed of this melancholy passage 
in her life. She, why, I know not, changed her name from that 
of Duquesne to the one she now bore — Jaubert ; and for the 
last two or three years had supported a precarious existence by 
plausible begging-letters addressed to persons of credulous be- 
nevolence ; for which offence she had frequently visited the 
police-courts at the instance of the secretary of the Mendicity 
Society, and it was there I had consequently made her ac- 
quaintance. 

“ Madame Jaubert !” I exclaimed with unfeigned surprise, 
“ why, what on earth can you be waiting here for on such a 
night as this 

“ To see you !” was her curt reply. 

“ To see me ! Depend upon it, then, you are knocking at 
the wrong door for not the first time in your life. The very 
little faith I ever had in professional widows, with twelve small 
children, all down in the measles, has long since vanished, 
and” 

“ Nay,” she interrupted — she spoke English, by the way, like 
a native — “ I’m not such a fool as to be trying the whimpering 
dodge upon you. It is a matter of business. You want to find 
Jem Martin .?” 

“ Ay, truly ; but what can you know of him ? Surely you 
are not yet fallen so low as to be the associate or accomplice of 
burglars .?” 

“ Neither yet, nor likely to be so,” replied the woman ; “ still 


THE REVENGE. 


131 


1 could tell you where to place your hand on James Martin, if 
I were hut sure of the reward.” 

“ There can be no doubt about that,” I answered. 

“ Then follow me, and befort ten minutes are past you will 
have secured your man.” 

I did so — cautiously, suspiciously ; for my adventure three 
evenings before had rendered me unusually circumspect and 
watchful. She led the way to the most crowded quarter of St. 
Giles’s, and when she had reached the entrance of a dark blind 
alley, called Hine’s Court, turned into it, and beckoned me to 
follow. 

“ Nay, nay, Madame Jaubert,” I exclaimed, ‘‘ that wont do. 
You mean fairly, I dare say ; but I don’t enter that respectable 
alley alone at this time of night.” 

She stopped, silent and embarrassed. Presently she said with 
a sneer, “ You are afraid, I suppose 

“ Yes I am.” 

“ What is to be done then she added after a few moments’ 
consideration. ‘‘ He is alone, I assure you.” 

“ That is possible ; still I do not enter that cul-de-sac to-night 
unaccompanied save by you.” 

“ You suspect me of some evil design, Mr. Waters said the 
woman with an accent of reproach. ‘‘ I thought you might, and 
yet nothing can be further from the truth. My sole object is to 
obtain the reward, and escape from this life of misery and deg- 
radation to my own country, and if possible begin the world re- 
spectably again. Why should you doubt me 

“ How came you acquainted with this robber’s haunts 

‘‘ The explanation is easy, but this is not the time for it 
Stay ; can’t you get assistance .”’ 

“ Easily — m less than ten minutes ; and if you are here when 


132 


THE REVENGE. 


I return, and your information proves correct, I will ask pardon 
For iny suspicions.” 

“ Be it so,” she said joyfully ; “ and be quick, for this weather 
is terrible.” 

Ten minutes had not passed when 1 returned with half-a-dozen 
officers, and found Madame Jaubert still at her post. We fol- 
lowed her up the court, caught Martin sure enough asleep upon 
a wretched pallet of straw in one of the alley hovels, and walked 
him off, terribly scared and surprised, to the nearest station-house, 
where he passed the remainder of the night. 

The next day Martin proved an alibi of the distinctcst most 
undeniable kind. He had been an inmate of Cierkenweii prison 
for the last three months, with the exception of just six days 
previous to our capture of him ; and he was of course at once 
discharged. The reward was payable only upon conviction of 
the offender, and the disappointment of poor Madame Jaubert 
was extreme. She wept bitterly at the thought of beins; com- 
pelled to continue her present disreputable mode of life, when a 
thousand francs — a sum she believed Martin’s capture would 
have assured her — besides sufficient for her traveling expenses 
and decent outfit, would, she said, purchase a partnership in a 
small but respectable millinery shop in Paris. “ Well,” I re- 
marked to her, “ there is no reason for despair. You have not 
only proved your sincerity and good faith, but that you possess a 
knowledge — how acquired you best know — of the haunts and 
hiding-places of burglars. The reward, as you may have seen 
by the new placards, has been doubled ; and I have a strong 
opinion, from something that has reached me this morning, that 
if you could light upon one Armstrong, alias Bowden, it would 
be as certainly yours as if already in your pocket.” 

“ Armstrong — Bowden !” repeated the woman with anxious 


THE REVENGE. 


133 


sill.plicity ; “ I never heard either of these names. What sort 
a person is he 

I described him minutely ; but Madame Jaubert appeared to 
entertain little or no hope of discovering his whereabout ; and 
ultimately went away in a very disconsolate mood, after, how- 
ever, arranging to meet me the next evening. 

I met her as agreed. She could obtain, she said, no intelli- 
gence of any reliable worth ; and she pressed me for fui ther 
particulars. Was Armstrong a drinking, a gaming, or a play- 
going man ? I told her all I knew of his habits, and a gleam of 
hope glanced across her face as one or two indications were men- 
tioned. I was to see her again on the morrow. It came ; she 
was as far off as ever ; and I advised her to waste no further 
time in the pursuit, but to at once endeavor to regain a position 
of respectability by the exercise of industry in the trade or busi- 
ness in which she was reputedly well-skilled. Madame Jaubert 
laughed scornfulljiL; and a gleam, it seemed to me, of her never 
entirely subdued insanity shot out from her deep-set, flashing 
eyes. It was finally settled that I should meet her once more 
at the same place at about eight o’clock the next evening. 

I arrived somewhat late at the appointed rendezvous, and 
found Madame Jaubert in a state of manifest excitement and 
' impatience. She had, she was pretty sure, discovered Arm- 
strong, and knew that he was at that moment in a house in 
Greek Street, Soho. 

“ Greek Street, Soho ! Is he alone 

“ Yes ; with the exception of a woman who is minding the 
premises, and of whom he is an acquaintance under another 
name. You will be able to secure him without the least risk 
or difficulty, but not an instant must be lost.” 

Madame Jaubert perceived my half-hesitation. “ Surely ’ 


134 


THE REVENGE. 


she exclaimed, “ you are not afraid of one man ! It’s useless 
affecting to suspect me after what has occurred.” 

“ True,” I replied. “ Lead on.” 

The house at which we stopped in Greek Street appeared to 
be an empty one, from the printed bills in the windows announc- 
ing it to be let or sold. Madame J aubert knocked in a peculiar 
manner at the door, which was presently opened by a woman. 
‘‘ Is Mr. Brown still within Madame Jaubert asked in a low 
voice. 

“ Yes : what do you want with him .?” 

“ I have brought a gentleman who will most likely be a pur- 
chaser of some of the goods he has to dispose of.” 

“ Walk in, then, if you please,” was the answer. We did 
so ; and found ourselves, as the door closed, in pitch darkness. 
“ This way,” said the woman ; “ you shall have a light in half 
a minute.” 

“ Let me guide you,” said Madame Jaubert, as I groped on- 
wards by the wall, and at the same time seizing my right hand. 
Instantly as she did so, I heard a rustle just behind me — two 
quick and violent blows descended on the back of my head, there 
was a flash before my eyes, a suppressed shout of exultation rang 
in my ears, and I fell insensible to the ground. 

It was some time, on partially recovering my senses, before I 
could realize either what had occurred or the situation in which 
I found myself. Gradually, however, the incidents attending 
the artfully-prepared treachery of Madame Jaubert grew into 
distinctness, and I pretty well comprehended my present posi- 
tion. I was lying at the bottom of a cart, blindfold, gagged, 
handcuffed, and covered over by what, from their smell, seemed 
to be empty corn-sacks. The vehicle was moving at a pretty 
rapid rate, and judging from the roar and tumult without^ 


THE REVENGE. 


135 


through one of the busiest thoroughfares of London. It was 
Saturday evening ; and I thought, from the character of the 
noises, and the tone of a clock just chiming ten, that we were 
in Tottenham Court Road. I endeavored to rise, but found, 
as I might have expected, that it was impossible to do so ; my 
captors having secured me to the floor of the cart by strong 
cords. There was nothing for it, therefore, but patience and 
resignation ; words easily pronounced, but difficult, under such 
circumstances, to realize in practice. My thoughts, doubtless in 
consequence of the blows I had received, soon became hurried 
and incoherent. A tumultuous throng of images swept con- 
fusedly past, of which the most constant and frequent were the 
faces of my wife and youngest child, whom I had kissed in his 
sleep just previous to leaving home. Madame Jaubert and 
James Martin were also there ; and ever and anon the mena- 
cing countenance of Levasseur stooped over me with a hideous 
expression, and I felt as if clutched in the fiery grasp of a demon. 
I have, no doubt that the voice which sounded in my ear at the 
moment I was felled to the ground must have suggested the 
idea of the Swiss — faintly and imperfectly as I caught it. This 
tumult of brain only gradually subsided as the discordant upi oar 
of the streets — which no doubt added to the excitement I was 
suffering under by suggesting the exasperating nearness of abun- 
dant help which could not be appealed to — died gradually away 
into a silence only broken by the rumble of the cart-wheels, and 
the subdued talk of the driver and his companions, of whom there 
appeared to be two or three. At length the cart stopped, I 
heard a door unlocked and thrown open, and a few moments 
afterwards I was dragged from under the corn-sacks, carried up 
three flights of stairs, and dropped brutally upon the floor till a 
light could be procured. Directly one was brought, I was raised 


136 


THE REVENOte. 


to my feet, placed upright against a wooden partition, and staples 
having been driven into the paneling, securely fastened in that 
position, with cords passed through them, and round my arm 
pits. This etfected, an authoritative voice — •■the now distinct 
recognition of which thrilled me with dismay — ordered that T 
should be unblinded. It was done ; and when my eyes became 
somewhat accustomed to the suddenly-dazzling light and glare, I 
saw I^evasseur and the clerk Dubarle standing directly in front 
of me, their faces kindled into flame by fiendish triumph and 
delight. The report that they had been drowned was then a 
mistake, and they had incurred the peril of returning to in. 
country for the purpose of avenging themselves upon :iu and 
how could it be doubted that an opportunitv achieved at such 
fearful risk would be effectually, remorselessly used ? A pang 
(/ mortax terror shot through me, and then I strove to awaken 
in my heart a stern endurance, and resolute contempt of death, 
with, I may now confess, very indifferent .success. The woman 
Jaubert was, I also saw, present ; and a man, whom I after- 
wards ascertained to be Martin, was standing near the doorway, 
with his back towards me. These two, at a brief intimation from 
Lavasseur, went down stairs ; and- then the fierce exultation of 
the two escaped convicts — of Levasseur especially — broke forth 
with wolfish rage and ferocity. ‘‘ Ha — ha — ha !” shouted the 
Swiss, at the same time striking me over the face with his open 
hand, “ you find, then, that others can plot as well as you can — 
dog, traitor, scoundrel that you are ! ‘ An re voir — alors !’ was 

it, eh Well, here we are, and I wish you joy of the meeting. 
Ha — ha ! How dismal the rascal looks, Hubarle !” — (Again the 
coward struck me) — “ He is hardly grateful to me, it seems, for 
having kept my word. I always do, my fine fellow,” he added 
with a savage chuckle ; “ and never neglect to pay my debts of 


THE REVENGE. 


137 


honor. Yours especially,” he continued, drawing a pistol from 
his pocket, ‘‘ shall be prompt payment, and with interest too, 
scelerat !” He held the muzzle ol the pistol to within a yard 
of my forehead, and placed his finger on the trigger. I instinc- 
tively closed my eyes, and tasted in that fearful moment the full 
bitterness of death ; hut my hour was not yet come. Instead 
of the flash and report which I expected would herald me into 
eternity, a taunting laugh from Levasseur at the terror he ex- 
cited rang through the room. 

Come — come,” said Duharle, over whose face a gleam of 
commiseration, almost of repentance, had once or twice passed ; 

you will alarm that fellow down stairs with your noise. We 
must, you know, wait till he is .<rone and he appears to be in no 
hurry. In the meantime let us nave a game, it 'iicfuet fiir the 
tii-st shot at the traitor’s carcase.” 

“ Excellent — capital !” shouted Levasseur with savage glee. 
“ A game of piquet ; the stake your life, Waters ! A glorious 
game ! and mind you see fair -play. In the meantime here’s your 
health, and better luck next time if you should chance to live to 
see it.” He swallowed a draught of wine which Duharle, after 
helping himself, had poured out for him ; and then approaching 
me, with the silver cup he had drained in his hand, said, “ Look 
at the crest ! Do you recognize it — fool, idiot that you are 
I did so readily enough : it was a portion of the plunder car- 
ried off from Portman Square. ^ 

Come,” again interposed Duharle, “ let us have our game.” 

The play began, and But I will dwell no longer upon 

this terrible passage in my police experience. Frequently even 
now the incidents of that night revisit me m dreams, and I awake 
with a start and cry of terror. In addition to the mental torture 
I endured, I was suffering under an agonizing thirst, caused bj 


138 


THE REVENGE. 


(he fever of my blood, and the pressure of the absorbing gag, 
vrhich still remained in my mouth. It was wonderful I did not 
lose my senses. At last the game was over ; the Swiss won, and 
sprang to his feet with the roar of a wild beast. 

At this moment Madame Jaubert entered the apartment 
somewhat hastily. “ This man below,” she said, “ is getting 
nsolent. He has taken it into his tipsy head that you mean to 
kill your prisoner, and he wont, he says, be involved in a murder, 
which would be sure to be found out. I told him he was talking 
absurdly ; but he is still not satisfied, so you had better go down 
and speak to him yourself.” 

I afterwards found, it may be as well to mention here, that 
Madame Jaubert and Martin had been induced to assist in en- 
trapping me, in order that I might be out of the way when a 
friend of Levasseur’s, who had been committed to Newgate on a 
serious charge, came to be tried, I being the chief witness against 
him ; and they were both assured that I had nothing more seri- 
ous to apprehend than a few days’ detention. In addition to a 
considerable money-present, Levasseur had, moreover, promised 
Madame Jaubert to pay her expenses to Paris, and assist in 
placing her in business there. 

Levasseur muttered a savage imprecation on hearing the 
woman’s message, and then said, “ Come with me, Dubarle ; 
if we cannot convince the fellow, we can at least silence him ! 
Marie Du(|uesne, you will remain here.” 

As soon as they were gone, the woman eyed me with a com- 
passionate expression, and approaching close to me, said in a low 
voice, “ Ho not be alarmed at their tricks and menaces. After 
Thursday you will be sure to be released.” 

1 shook my head, and as distinctly as I could made a gesture 
vith my fettered arms towards the table on which the wine wai 


THE REVENGE. 


139 


standing. She understood me. “ If,” said she, “ you will 
promise not to call out, I will relieve you of the gag.” 

I eagerly nodded compliance. The gag was removed, and 
she held a cup of wine to my fevered lips. It was a draught 
from the waters of paradise, and hope, energy, life, were re- 
newed within me as I drank. 

“ You are deceived,” I said in a guarded voice, the instant 
my burning thirst was satisfied. ‘‘ They intend to murder me, 
and you will be involved as an accomplice.” 

“ Nonsense,” she replied. “ They have been frightening you, 
that’s all.” 

“ I again repeat you are deceived. Release me from these 
fetters and cords, give me but a chance of at least selling my 
life as dearly as I can, and the money you told me you stood in 
need of shall be yours.” 

“ Hark !” she exclaimed. “ They are coming !” 

“ Bring down a couple of bottles of wine,” said Levassuer 
from the bottom of the stairs. Madame Jaubert obeyed the 
order, and in a few minutes returned. 

I renewed my supplications to be released, and was of course 
extremely liberal of promises. 

“ It is vain talking,” said the woman. “ I do not believe 
they will harm you ; but even if it were as you say, it is too 
late now to retrace my steps. You cannot escape. That fool 
below is already three-parts intoxicated : they are both armed, 
and would hesitate at nothing if they but suspected treachery.” 

It was vain to urge her. She grew sullen and menacing 
and was insisting that the gag should be replaced in my mouth, 
when a thought struck me. 

“ Levassuer called you Marie Duquesne just now ; but surely 
your name is Jaubert — is it not .?” 


.140 


IHE REVENGE. 


“ Do not trouble yourself about my name,” she replied 
“ that is my affair, not yours.” 

“ Because if you are the Marie Duquesne who once kept a 
shop in Cranbourne Alley, and lost a child called Marie-Louise, 
[ could tell you something.” 

A wild light broke from her dark eyes, and a suppressed scream 
rom her lips. “ I am that Marie Duquesne !” she said in a 
/oice tremulous with emotion. 

Then I have ’nform you that the child so long supposed 
to be lost I discovered nearly three weeks ago.” 

The woman fairly leapt towards clasped me fiercely 
by the arms, and peering in my face with oye> on fire with 
insane excitement, hissed out, “You lie — ^you lie, you dog ' 
Y ou are striving to deceive me ! She is in heaven : the angels 
told me so long since.” 

I do not know, by the way, whether the falsehood I was en- 
deavoring to palm off upon the woman was strictly justifiable or 
not ; but I am fain to believe that there are few moralists that 
would not, under the circumstances, have acted pretty much as 
I did. 

“ If your child was lost when going on an errand to Coventry 
Street, and her name is Marie-Louise Duquesne, I tell you she 
is found. How should I otherwise have become acquainted with 
these particulars 

“ True — true,” she muttered : “ how else should he know ? 
Where is she added the woman in tones of agonized entreaty, 
s she sank down and clasped my knees. “ Tell me — tell me, 
as you hope for life or mercy, where I may find my child .^” 

“ Release me, give me a chance of escape, and to-morrow 
your child shall be in your arms. Refuse, and the secret dief 
with me.” 


tM£ REVENGE 


141 


She sprang quickly to her feet, unclasped the handcuffs, 
snatched a knife from the table, and cut tn.' -ords which bound 
me with eager haste. “ Another draught of wine^ she said 
still in the same hurried, almost insane manner. ‘‘ You have 
work to do ! Now, whilst I secure the door, do you rub and 
chafe your stiffened joints.” The door was soon fastened, and 
then she assisted in restoring the circulation to my partially 
benumbed limbs. This was at last accomplished, and Marie 
Duquesne drew me towards a window, which she softly opened. 

It is useless,” she whispered, ‘‘ to attempt a struggle with the 
men below. You must descend by this,” and she placed her 
hand upon a lead water-pipe, which reached from the roof to 
within a few feet of the ground. 

“ And you,” I said ; “ how ^re you to escape .^” 

I will tell you. Do you hasten on towards Hampstead, 
from which we are distant in a northerly direction about a mile. 
There is a house at about half the distance. Procure help, and 
return as quickly as possible. The door-fastenings will resist 
some time, even should your flight be discovered. You will 
not fail me .^” 

‘‘ Be assured I will not.” The descent was a difficult and 
somewhat perilous one, but it was safely accomplished, and I set 
off at the top of my speed towards Hampstead. 

I had gone perhaps a quarter of a mile, when the distant 
sound of a horse’s feet, coming at a slow trot towards me, 
"aught my ear. I paused, to make sure I was not deceived, 
and as I did so, a wild scream from the direction I had left, 
followed by another and another, broke upon the stillness of the 
night. The scoundrels had no doubt discovered my escape, and 
were about to wreak their vengeance upon the unfortunate crea- 
ture in their power. The trot of the horse which I had heard 


142 


THE REVENGE. 


was, simultaneously with the breaking out of those wild outcries, 
increased to a rapid gallop. “ Hallo !” exclaimed the horseman 
as he came swiftly up. ‘‘Do you know where these screams 
come from It was the horse-patrol who thus providentially 
came up ! I briefly stated that the life of a woman was at the 
mercy of two escaped convicts. “ Then for Grod’s sake jump up 
behind me !” exclaimed the patrol. “We shall be there in a 
couple of minutes.” I did so: the horse — a powerful animal, 
and not entirely unused to carry double — started off, as if it com- 
prehended the necessity for speed, and in a very brief space of 
time we were at the door of the house from which I had so lately 
escaped. Marie Duquesne, with her body half out of the win- 
dow, was still wildly screaming as we rushed into the room below. 
There was no one there, and we swiftly ascended the stairs, at 
the top of which we could hear Levasseur and Dubarle thunder- 
ing at the door, which they had unexpectedly found fastened, 
and hurling a storm of imprecations at the woman within, the 
noise of which enabled us to approach them pretty nearly before 
we were heard or perceived. Martin saw us first, and his sudden 
exclamation alarmed the others. Dubarle and Martin made a 
desperate rush to pass us, by which I was momently thrown on 
one side against the wall ; and very fortunately, as the bullet 
levelled at me from a pistol Levasseur held in his hand would 
probably have finished me. Martin escaped, which I was not 
very sorry for ; but the patrol pinned Dubarle safely, and I 
griped Levasseur with a strength and ferocity against which he 
was powerless as an infant. Our victory was complete ; and 
two hours afterwards, the recaptured convicts were safely lodged 
in a station-house. 

I caused Madame Duquesne to be as gently undeceived the 
next morning as possible, with respect to her child ; but the 


THE .REVENGE, 


US 


reaction and disappointment proved too much for her wavering 
intellect. She relapsed into positive insanity, and was placed iu 
Bedlam, where she remained two years. At the end of that 
period she was pronounced convalescent. A sufficient sum of 
money was raised by myself and others, not only to send her to 
Paris, but to enable her to set up as a milliner in a small bui 
respectable way. As lately as last May, when I saw her there 
she was in health both of mind and body, and doing comfortably 

With the concurrence of the police authorities, very little was 
said publicly respecting my entrapment. It might perhaps have 
excited a monomania amongst liberated convicts— colored and 
exaggerated as every incident would have been for the amuse- 
ment of the public — to attempt similar exploits. I was also 
anxious to conceal the peril I had encountered from my wife ; 
and it was not till I had left the police force that she was in- 
formed of it. Levasseur and Dubarle were convicted of return- 
ing from transportation before the term for which they had been 
sentenced had expired, and were this time sent across the seas 
for life. The reporters of the morning papers, or rather the 
reporter for the “ Times,” “ Herald,” Chronicle,” “ Post,” 
and “ Advertiser,” gave precisely the same account, even to the 
misspelling of Levasseur’s name, dismissing the brief trial in the 
following paragraph, under the head of ‘‘ Old Bailey Sessions 
— ‘‘ Alphonse Dubarle (24), and Sebastian Levasson (49), were 
identified as unlawfully-returned convicts, and sentenced to trans 
portation for life. The prisoners, it was understood, were con- 
nected with the late plate-robbery in Port man Square ; but as 
conviction could not have increased their punishment, the in 
dictment was not pressed.” 

Levasseur, I had almost forgotten to state, admitted that it 
was he who woui>ded me in Ryder’s Court, Leicester Square. 

10 


f ^ 1“ 1 I J , 


MARY KINGSFORD. 

Towards the close of the year 1836, I was hurriedly de- 
spatched to Liverpool for the purpose of securing the person 
of one Charles James Marshall, a collecting clerk, who, it was 
suddenly discovered, had absconded with a considerable sum of 
money belonging to his employers. I was too late — Charles 
James Marshall having sailed in one of the American liners the 
day before my arrival in the northern commercial capital. This 
fact well ascertained, I immediately set out on my return to 
London. Winter had come upon us unusually early ; the 
weather was bitterly cold; and a piercing wind caused the 
snow, which had been falling heavily for several hours, to gy- 
rate in fierce, blinding eddies, and heaped it up here and there 
into large and dangerous drifts. The obstruction offered by the 
rapidly-congealing snow greatly delayed our progress between 
Liverpool and Birmingham ; and at a few miles only distant 
from the latter city, the leading engine ran off the line. For- 
tunately, the rate at which we were traveling was a very slow 
Gruo, and no accident of moment occurred. Having no luggage 
to care for, I walked on to Birmingham, where I found the par- 
lamentary train just on the point of starting, and with some 
hesitation, on account of the severity of the weather, I took 
my seat in one of the then very much exposed and uncomfort- 
able carriages. We traveled steadily and safely, though slowly 
along, and reached Bugby Station in the afternoon, where wq 


MARY KINGSFORD. 


145 


were to remain, the guard told us, till a fast down-train had 
passed. All of us hurried as quickly as we could to the large 
room at this station, where blazing fires and other appliances 
soon thawed the half-frozen bodies, and loosened the tongues of 
the numerous and motley passengers. After recovering the use 
of my benumbed limbs and faculties, I had leisure to look 
around and survey the miscellaneous assemblage about me. 

Two persons had traveled in the same compartment with me 
from Birmingham, whose exterior, as disclosed by the dim light 
of the railway carriage, created some surprise that such a finely- 
attired, fashionable gentleman should stoop to journey by the 
plebeian penny-a-mile train. I could now observe them in a 
clearer light, and surprise at their apparent condescension van- 
ished at once. To an eye less experienced than mine in the 
artifices and expedients familiar to a certain class of ‘ swells,’ 
they might perhaps have passed muster for what they assumed 
to be, especially amidst the varied crowd of a ‘ parliamentary 
but their copper finery could not for a moment impose upon me. 
The watch-chains, were, I saw, mosaic; the watches, so fre- 
(|uently displayed, gilt ; eye-glasses the same ; the coats, fur- 
collared and cufied, were ill-fitting' and secbnd-hand ; ditto of 
the varnished boots and renovated velvet waistcoats ; while the 
luxuriant moustaches and whiskers, and flowing wigs, were un- 
mistakably mere jpieces — assumed and diversified at 

pleasure. They were both apparantly about fifty years of age ; 
one of them perhaps one or two years less than that. I watched 
them narrowly, the more so from their making themselves osten- 
tatiously attentive to a young woman — girl rather she seemed 
— of a remarkably graceful figure, but whose face I had not 
yet obtained a glimpse of They made boisterous way for her 
to the fire, and were profuse and noisy in their oflfers of refresh- 


46 


MARY KINGSFORD. 


meat— all of which, I observed, were peremptorily declined 
She was dressed in deep, unexpensive mourning ; and from her 
timid gestures and averted head, whenever either of the fellows 
addressed her, was, it was evident, terrified as well as annoyed 
by there rude and insolent notice. I quietly drew near to the 
side of the fire-place at which she stood, and with some difficulty 
obtained a sight of her features. I was struck with extrem 
surprise— not so much at her singular beauty, as from an instan- 
taneous conviction that she was known to me, or at least that I 
had seen her frequently before, but where or when I could not 
at all call to mind. Again I looked, and my first impression 
was confirmed. At this moment the elder of the two men I 
have partially described placed his hand, with a rude famili- * 
arity, upon the girl’s shoulder, proffering at the same time a 
glass of hot brandy and water for her acceptance. She turned 
sharply and indignantly away from the fellow; and looking 
round as if for protection, caught my eagerly-fixed gaze. 

‘‘ Mr. Waters !” she impulsively ejaculated. “ Oh, I am so 
glad !” 

“Yes,” I answered, “ that is certainly my name ; but I scarcely 

remember . Stand back, fellow !” I angrily continued, as 

her tormentor, emboldened by the spirits he had drank, pressed 
with a jeering grin upon his face towards her, still tendering the 
brandy and water. “ Stand back !” He replied by a curse and 
a threat. The next moment his flowing wig was whirling across 
the room, and he standing with his bullet-head bare but for 
few locks of iron-gray, in an attitude of speechless rage an 
confusion, increased by the peals of laughter which greeted his 
ludicrous, unwigged aspect. He quickly put himself in a fight- 
ing attitude, and, backed by his companion, challenged me to 
battle. This was quite out of the question : and I was some- 


MARY KINGSFORD. 


147 


what at a loss how to proceed, when the bell announcing the 
instant departure of the train rang out, my furious antagonist 
gathered up and adjusted his wig, and we all sallied forth to 
take our places — the young woman holding fast by my arm, and 
in a low, nervous voice, begging me not to leave her. I watched 
the two fellows take their seats, and then led her to the hind- 
most carriage, which we had to ourselves as far as the next 
station. 

“Are Mrs. Waters and Emily quite well.^” said the young 
woman coloring, and lowering her eyes beneath my earnest 
gaze, which she seemed for a moment to misinterpret. 

“ Quite, entirely so,” I almost stammered. “ You know us 
then 

“ Surely I do,” she replied, reassured by my manner. “ But 
you, it seems,” she presently added with a winning smile, “ have 
quite forgotten little Mary Kingsford.” 

“ Mary Kingsford !” I exclaimed almost with a shout. “ Why, 
so it is ! But what a transformation a few years have effected !” 

“ Do you think so ? Not 'pretty Mary Kingsford now then, I 
suppose .^” she added with a light, pleasant laugh. 

“ You know what I mean, you vain puss you !” I rejoined 
quite gleefully ; for I was overjoyed at meeting with the gentle, 
well-remembered playmate of my own eldest girl. We were 
old familiar friends— almost father and daughter— in an instant. 

Little Mary Kingsford, I should state, was, when I left York- 
shire, one of the prettiest, most engaging children I had ever 
seen ; and a petted favorite not only with us, but of every other 
family in the neighborhood. She was the only child of Philip 
and Mary Kingsford — a humble, worthy, and much-respected 
couple. The father was gardener to Sir Pyott Dalzell, and her 
mother eked out his wages to a respectable maintenance b^ 


148 


MARY IINGSFORD. 


keeping a cheap children’s school. The change which a few 
years had wrought in the beautiful child was quite sujfficient to 
account for my imperfect recognition of her ; but the instant her 
name was mentioned, I at once recognised the rare comeliness 
which had charmed us all in her childhood. The soft brown 
eyes were the same, though now revealing profounder depths, and 
emitting a more pensive expression ; the hair, though deepened 
in color, was still golden ; her complexion, lit up as it now was 
by a sweet blush, was brilliant as ever ; whilst her child-person 
had become matured and developed into womanly symmetry and 
grace. The brilliancy of color vanished from her cheek as I 
glanced meaningly at her mourning dress. 

“ Yes,” she murmured in a sad quivering voice — “ yes, father 
is gone ! It will be six months come next Thursday that he 
died ! Mother is well,” she continued more cheerfully after 
a pause, “ in health, but poorly off ; and I — and I,” she added 
with a faint effort at a smile, ‘‘ am going to London to seek my 
fortune !” 

To seek your fortune !” 

“ Yes : you know my cousin, Sophy Clarke ? In one of her 
letters, she said she often saw you.” 

I nodded without speaking. I knew little of Sophia Clarke, 
except that she was the somewhat gay, coquettish shopwoman 
of a highly respectable confectioner in the Strand, whom I shall 
call by the name of Morris. 

‘‘ I am to be Sophy’s fellow shop-assistant,” continued Mary 
Kingsford ; “ not of course at first at such good wages as she 
gets. So lucky for me, is it not, since I must go to service 
Ynd so kind, too, of Sophy to interest herself for me !” 

“ Well, it may be so. But sm** ly I have heard — my wife ai 
least has — that you and Richajo* '^^^t’^tlake were engaged ?*- 


MARY KINGSFORD. 


149 


Excuse me, Mary, I was not aware the subject was a painful or 
unpleasant one.” 

“ Kichard’s father,” she replied with some spirit, ‘‘ has 
higher views for his son. It is all off between us now,” she 
added ; “ and perhaps it is for the best that it should be so.” 

I could have rightly interpreted these words without the aid 
of the partially expressed sigh which followed them. The 
perilous position of so attractive, so inexperienced, so guileless 
a young creature, amidst the temptations and vanities of Lon- 
don, so painfully impressed and preocupied me, that I scarcely 
uttered another word till the rapidly diminishing rate of the 
ti*ain announced that we neared a station, after which it was 
probable we should have no farther opportunity for private 
converse 

“ Those men — those fellows at Rugby — where did you meet 
with them .?” I inquired. 

“ About thirty or forty miles below Birmingham, where they 
entered the carriage in which I was seated. At Birmingham T 
managed to avoid them.” 

Little more passed between us till we reached London. So- 
phia Clarke received her cousin at the Euston station, and 
was profuse of felicitations and compliments upon her arrival 
and personal appearance. After receiving a promise from 
Mary Kingsford to call and take tea with my wife and her old 
playmate on the following Sunday, I handed the two young 
women into a cab in waiting, and they drove off. I had not 
moved away from the spot when a voice a few paces benind me, 
which I thought I recognised, called out : Quick, coachee, or 
you’ll lose sight of them !” As I turned quickly round, another 
cab drove smartly off, which I followed at a run. I found, on 
reaching Lower Seymour Street, that I was not mistaken as to 


150 


MART KINGSPORD. 


the owner of the voice, nor of his purpose. The fellow I had 
unwigged at Kugby thrust his head half out of the cab window, 
and pointing to the vehicle which ccntained the two girls, called 
out to the driver “ to mind and make no mistake.” The mar 
nodded intelligence, and lashed his horse into a faster pace. 
Nothing that I might do could prevent the fellows from ascer- 
taining Mary Kingsford’s place of abode ; and as that was all 
that, for the present at least, need be apprehended, I desisted 
from pursuit, and bent my steps homewards. 

Mary Kingsford kept her appointment on the Sunaay, and in 
reply to our questioning, said she liked her situation very. well. 
Mr. and Mrs. Morris were exceedingly kind to her ; so was So- 
phia. “ Her cousin,” she added in reply to a look which I could 
not repress, ‘‘ was perhaps a little gay and free of manner, but 
the best-hearted creature in the world.” The two fellows who 
had followed them had, I found, already twice visited the shop : 
but their attentions appeared now to be exclusively directed 
towards Sophia Clarke, whose vanity they not a little gratified. 
The names they gave were Heartly and Simpson. So entirely 
guileless and unsophistmated was the gentle country maiden, 
that I saw she scarcely comprehended the hints and warnings 
which I threw out. At parting, however, she made me a serious 
promise that she would instantly apply to me should any diffi- 
culty or perplexity overtake her. 

I often called in at the confectioner’s, and was gratified to 
find that Mary’s modest propriety of behavior, in a somewhat 
difficult position, had gained her the good will of her employers, 
who invariably spoke of her with kindness and respect. Never- 
theless, the cark and care of a London life, with its incessant 
employment and late hours, soon, I perceived, began to tell 
upon her health and spirits; and it was consequently with a 


MART KINGSFORD. 


151 


strong emotion of pleasure I heard from my wife that she had 
seen a passage in a letter from Mary’s mother, to the effect 
that the elder Westlake was betraying symptoms of yielding to 
the angry and passionate expostulations of his only son, relative 
to the enforced breaking off of his engagement with IMary 
Kingsford. The blush with which she presented the letter was, 
I was told, very eloquent. 

One evening, on passing Morris’ shop, I observed Hartley 
and Simpson there. They were swallowing custards and other 
confectionary with much gusto ; and, from their new and costly 
habiliments, seemed to be in surprisingly good case. They were 
smirking and smiling at the cousins with rude confidence ; and 
Sophia Clarke, I was grieved to see, repaid their insulting im- 
pertinence by her most elaborate smiles and graces. I passed 
on ; and presently meeting with a brother-detective, who, it 
struck me, might know something of the two gentlemen, I 
turned back with him, and pointed them out. A glance suf- 
ficed him. 

“ Hartley and Simpson you say he remarked after we had 
walked away to some distance : “ those are only two of their 
numerous aliases. I cannot, however, say that I am as yet on 
very familiar terms with them ; but as I am especially directed 
to cultivate their acquaintance, there is no doubt we shall be 
more intimate with each other before long. Gamblers, black- 
legs, swindlers, I already know them to be ; and I would take 
odds they are not unfrequently something more, especially when 
fortune and the bones run cross with them.” 

“ They appear to be in high feather just now,” I remarked. 

“Yes' +hey are connected, I suspect, with the gang who 
cleaned out young Garslade last week in Jermyn Street. I’d 
lay a trifle,” added my friend, as I turned to leave him, that 


152 


MARY KINGSFORD, 


one or both of them will wear the queen’s livery, gray turned 
up with yellow, before many weeks are past. Good-by.” 

About a fortnight after this conversation, I and my wife paid 
a visit to Astley’s, for the gratification of our youngsters, who 
had long been promised a sight of the equestrian marvels exhib- 
ited at that celebrated amphitheatre. It was the latter end of 
February ; and when we came out of the theatre, we found the 
weather had changed to dark and sleety, with a sharp, nipping 
wind. I had to call at Scotland- Yard ; my wife and children 
consequently proceeded home in a cab without me ; and after 
assisting to quell a slight disturbance originating in a gin-palace 
close by, I went on my way over Westminster Bridge. The 
inclement weather had cleared the streets and thoroughfares in 
a surprisingly short time ; so that, excepting myself, no foot-pas- 
senger was visible on the bridge till I had about half-crossed it, 
when a female figure, closely muffled up about the head, and 
sobbing bitterly, passed rapidly by on the opposite side. I 
turned and gazed after the retreating figure : it was a youthful, 
symmetrical one ; and after a few moments’ hesitation, I deter- 
mined to follow at a distance, and as unobservedly as I could. 
On the woman sped, Avithout pause or hesitation, till she reached 
Astley’s, where I observed her stop suddenly, and toss her arms 
in the air with a gesture of desperation. I quickened my steps, 
which she observing, uttered a slight scream, and darted swiftly 
off again, moaning and sobbing as she ran. The slight momen- 
tary glimpse I had obtained of her features beneath the gas- 
lamp opposite Astley’s, suggested a frightful apprehension, and 
I followed at my utmost speed. She turned at the first-cross 
street, and I should soon have overtaken her, but that in dart- 
ing round the corner where she disappeared, I ran full butt 
against a stout, elderly gentleman, who was hurrying smartly 


MARY KINGSFORD. 


153 


along out of the weather. What with the suddenness oi‘ the 
shock and the slipperiness of the pavement, down we both reeled ; 
and by the time we had regained our feet, and growled savagely 
at each other, the young woman, whoever she was, had disap- 
peared, and more than half an hour’s eager search after her 
proved fruitless. At last I bethought me of hiding at one cor- 
ner of Westminster Bridge. I had watched impatiently for 
about twenty minutes, when I observed the object of my pur- 
suit stealing timidly and furtively towards the bridge on the 
opposite side of the way. As she came nearly abreast of 
where 1 stood, I darted forward ; she saw, without recognising 
me, and uttering an exclamation of terror, flew down towards 
the river, where a number of pieces of balk and other timber 
were fastened together, forming a kind of loose raft. I followed 
with desperate haste, for I saw that it was indeed Mary Kings- 
ford, and loudly calling to her by name to stop. She did not 
appear to hear me, and in a few moments the unhappy girl had 
gained the end of the timber-raft. One instant she paused with 
clasped hands upon the brink, and in another had thrown her- 
self into the dark and moaning river. On reaching the spot 
where she had disappearec^ I could not at first see her in conse- 
quence of the dark mourning dress she had on. Presently I 
caught sight of her, still upborne by her sprcsad clothes, but 
already canned by the swift current beyond my reach. The 
only chance was to crawl along a piece of round timber which 
projected farther into the river, and by the end of which she 
must pass. This I effected with some difficulty; and laying 
myself out at full length, vainly endeavored, with outstretched, 
straining arms, to grasp her dress. There was nothing left for it 
but to plunge in after her. T will confess that I hesitated to do 
«o. I was encumbered with a heavy dress, which there was no 


154 


MARY KINOSFORD. 


time to put off, and moreover, like most inland men, I was bu< 
an indifferent swimmer. My indecision quickly vanished. The 
wretched girl, though gradually sinking, had not yet uttered a cry, 
or appeared to struggle ; hut when the chilling waters reached 
her lips, she seemed to suddenly revive to a consciousness of the 
horror of her fate : she fought wildly with the engulphing tide, 
and shrieked piteously for help. Before one could count ten, I 
had grasped her by the arm, and lifted her head above the sur 
face of the river. As I did so, I felt as if suddenly encased 
and weighed down by leaden garments, so quickly had my thick 
clothing and high boots sucked in the water. Vainly, thus bur- 
dened and impeded, did I endeavor to regain the raft ; the 
strong tide bore us outwards, and I glared round, in inexpres- 
sible dismay, for some means of extrication from the frightful 
peril in which I found myself involved. Happily, right in the 
direction the tide was drifting us, a large barge lay moored by 
a chain-cable. Eagerly I seized and twined one arm firmly 
round it, and thus partially secure, hallooed with renewed power 
for assistance. It soon came : a passer-by had witnessed the 
flight of the girl and my pursuit, and was already hastening 
with others to our assistance. A wherry was unmoored : guided 
by my voice, they soon reached us ; and but a brief interval 
elapsed before we were safely housed in an adjoining tavern. 

A change of dress, with which the landlord kindly supplied 
me, a blazing Are, and a couple of glasses of hot brandy and 
water, soon restored warmth and vigor to my chilled and par- 
tially benumbed limbs ; but more than two hours elapsed before 
Mary, who had swallowed a good deal of water, was in a con- 
dition to be removed. I had just sent for a cab, when twe 
police-officers, well known to me, entered the room with offi- 
cial briskness Mary screamed, staggered towards me, and 


MARY KINGSFORD. 


155 


clinging to my arm, besought me with frantic earnestness to 
save her 

“ What is the meaning of this ?” I exclaimed, addressing one 
of the police-ofl&cers. 

“ Merely,” said he, ‘‘ that the young woman that’s clinging 
so tight to you has been committing an audacious robbery” 

“ No — no — no !” broke in the terrified girl. 

“ Oh ! of course you’ll say so,” continued the ofl&cer. “ All 
I know is, that the diamond brooch was found snugly hid away 
in her own box. But come, we have been after you for the 
last three hours ; so you had better come along at once.” 

“ Save me ! — save me !” sobbed poor Mary, as she tightened 
her grasp upon my arm and looked with beseeching agony in 
my face. 

“Be comforted,” I whispered; “you shall go home with 
me. Calm yourself. Miss Kingsford,” I added in a louder 
tone ; “ I no more believe you have stolen a diamond brooch 
than that I have.” 

“ Bless you !— bless you !” she gasped in the intervals of her 
convulsive sobs. 4 

“ There is some wretched misapprehension in this business, 
I am quite sure.” I continued; “ but at all events I shall bail 
her— for this night at least.” 

“ Bail her ! That is hardly regular.” 

“ No ; but you will tell the superintendent that Mary Kings- 
ford is in my custody, and that I answer for her appearanc 
to-morrow.” 

The men hesitated, but I stood too well at head-quarters for 
them to do more than hesitate ; and the cab I had ordered being 
just then announced, I passed with Mary out of the room as 
quickly as I could, for I feared her senses were again leaving 


156 


AfARY KINOSFORi). 


her. The air revived her somewhat, and I lifted her into the 
cab, placing myself beside her. She appeared to listen in fear- 
ful doubt whether I should be allowed to take her with me ; 
and it was not till the wheels had made a score of revolutions 
that her fears vanished ; then throwing herself upon my neck 
in an ecstacy of gratitude, she burst into a flood of tears, and 
continued till we reached home sobbing on my bosom like a 
broken-hearted child. She had, I found, been there about ten 
o’clock to seek me, and being told that I was gone to Astley’s. 
had started off to find me there. 

Mary still slept, or at least she had not risen, when I left 
home the following morning to endeavor to get at the bottom 
of the strange accusation preferred against her. I first saw the 
superintendent, who, after hearing what I had to say, quite ap- 
proved of all that I had done, and intrusted the case entirely to 
my care. I next saw Mr. and Mrs. Morris and Sophia Clarke, 
and then waited upon the prosecutor, a youngish gentleman of 
the name of Saville, lodging in Essex Street, Strand. One or 
two things I heard, necessitated a visit to other ofiicers of police, 
incidentally, as I found, mixed up with the affair. By the time 
all this was done, and an effectual watch had been placed upon 
' Mr. Augustus Saville’s movements, evening had fallen, and I 
wended my way homewards, both to obtain a little rest, and 
hear Mary Kingsford’s version of the strange story. 

The result of my inquiries may be thus briefly summed up. 
Ten days before, Sophia Clarke told her cousin that she had 
orders for Covent-Garden Theatre ; and as it was not one of 
their busy nights, she thought they might obtain leave to go 
Mary expressed her doubt of this, as both Mr. and Mrs. IMorri.s, 
who were strict, and somewhat fanatical Dissenters, disap- 
proved of play-going, especially for young women. Never- 


MARY KINGSFORD. 


157 


theless Sophia asked, informed Mary that the required permis- 
sion had been readily accorded, and off they went in high spirits ; 
Mary especially, who had never been to a theatre in her life 
before. When there, they were joined by Hartley and Simp- 
son, much to Mary’s annoyance and vexation, especially as she 
saw that her cousin expected them. She had, in fact, accepted 
the orders from them. At the conclusion of the entertain- 
ments, they all four came out together, when suddenly there 
arose a hustling and confusion, accompanied with loud outcries, 
and a violent swaying to and fro of the crowd. The disturb- 
ance was, however, soon quelled ; and Mary and her cousin had 
reached the outer door, when two police-officers seized Hartley 
and his friend, and insisted upon their going with them. A 
scuffle ensued ; but other officers being at hand, the two meii 
were secured and carried off. The cousins, terribly frightened, 
called a coach, and were very glad to find themselves safe at 
home again. And now it came out that Mr. and Mrs. Morris 
had been told that they were going to spend the evening at my 
house, and had no idea they were going to the play ! Vexed as 
Mary was at the deception, she was too kindly-tempered to refuse 
to keep her cousin’s secret ; especially knowing as she did that 
the discovery of the deceit Sophia had practised would in all 
probability be followed by her immediate discharge. Hartley and 
his friend swaggered on the following afternoon into the shop, and 
whispered Sophia that their arrest by the police had arisen from 
a strange mistake, for which the most ample apologies had been 
offered and accepted. After this, matters went on as usual, 
except that Mary perceived a growing insolence and familiarity 
in Hartley’s manner towards her. His language was frequently 
quite unintelligible, and once he asked her plainly “ if she did 
not mean that he should go shares in the prize she had lately 


158 


MARY KINGSFORD. 


found ?” Upon Mary replying that she did not comprehend 
him, his look became absolutely ferocious, and he exclaimed • 
“ Oh, that’s your game, is it ? But don’t try it on with me, my 
good girl, I advise you.” So violent did he become, that Mr. 
Morris was attracted by the noise, and ultimately bundled him, 
neck and heels, out of the shop. ' She had not seen either him 
or his companion since. 

On the evening of the previous day, a gentleman whom she 
never remembered to have seen before, entered the shop, took a 
seat, and helped himself to a tart. She observed that after a 
while he looked at her very earnestly, and at length approach- 
ing quite close, said, “ You were at Covent-Garden Theatre 
last Tuesday evening week .”’ Mary was struck, as she said, 
all of a heap, for both Mr. and Mrs. Morris were in the shop, 
and heard the question. 

“ Oh, no, no ! you mistake,” she said hurriedly, and feeling 
at the same time her cheeks kindle into flame. 

“ Nay, but you were though,” rejoined the gentleman. And 
then lowering his voice to a whisper, he said, “ And let me 
advise you, if you would avoid exposure and condign punish- 
ment, to restore me the diamond brooch you robbed me of on 
that evening.” 

Mary screamed with terror, and a regular scene ensued. She 
was obliged to confess she had told a falsehood in denying she 
was at the theatre on the night in question, and Mr. Morris 
after that seemed inclined to believe any thing of her. The 
gentleman persisted in his charge ; but at the same time vehe- 
mently iterating his assurance that all he wanted was his prop- 
erty ; and it was ultimately decided that Mary’s boxes, as well 
as her person, should be searched. This was done ; and to her 
utter consternation the brooch was found concealed, they said, 


MAKT KINO8F0RD. 


169 


in a black silk reticule. Denials, asservations, were vain. Mr. 
Saville identified the brooch, but once more ofiered to be con- 
tent with its I’estoration. This Mr. Morris, a just, stern man, 
would not consent to, and he went out to summon a police- 
officer. Before he returned, Mary, by the advice of both her 
cousin and Mrs. Morris, had fled the house, and hurried in a 
state of distraction to find me, with what result the reader 
already knows. 

“ It is a wretched business,” I observed to my wife, as soon 
as Mary Kingsford had retired to rest, at about nine o’clock in 
the evening. “ Like you, I have no doubt of the poor girl’s 
perfect innocence ; but how to establish it by satisfactory evi- 
dence is another matter. I must take her to Bow Street the 
day after to-morrow. 

“ Good God, how dreadful ! Can nothing be done } What 
does the prosecutor say the brooch is worth 

“ His uncle,” he says, “ gave a hundred and twenty guineas 
for it. But that signifies little ; for were its worth only a hun- 
dred and twenty farthings, compromise is, you know, out of the 
question.” 

“ I did not mean that. Can you show it me ? I am a pretty 
good judge of the value of jewels.” 

“ Yes, you can see it.” I took it out of the desk in which 
I had locked it up, and placed it before her. It was a splendid 
emerald, encircled by large brilliants. 

My wife twisted and turned it about, holding it in all sorts of 
lights, and at last said — “ I do not believe that either the erne 
raid or the brilliants are real — that the brooch is, in fact, worth 
twenty shillings intrinsically.” 

Do you say so .^” I exclaimed as I jumped up from my 
chair, for my wife’s words gave color and consistence to a 
11 


160 


MARY KINGSF.tRD. 


Jim and faint suspicion which had crossed my mind. “ Then 
this Saville is a manifest liar ; and perhaps confederate 

with . But give me my hat ; I will ascertain this point 

at once.” 

I hurried to a jeweller’s shop, and found that my wife’s opin- 
ion was correct : apart from the workmanship, which was very 
fine, the brooch was valueless. Conjectures, suspicions, hopes, 
fears, chased each other with bewildering rapidity through my 
brain ; and in order to collect and arrange my thoughts, I step- 
ped out of the whirl of the streets into Dolly’s Chop-house, 
and decided, over a quiet glass of negus, upon my plan of 
operations 

The next morning there appeared at the top of the second 
column of the ‘‘ Times” an earnest appeal, worded with careful 
obscurity, so that only the person to whom it was addressed 
should easily understand it, to the individual who had lost or 
been robbed of a false stone and brilliants at the theatre, to 
communicate with a certain person — whose address I gave— 
without delay, in order to save the reputation, perhaps the life, 
of an innocent person. 

T was at the address I had given by nine o’clock. Sev- 
eral hours passed without bringing any one, and I was begin- 
ning to despair, when a gentleman of the name of Bagshawe 
was announced ; I fairly leaped for joy, for this was beyond 
my hopes. 

A gentleman presently entered, of about thirty years of age, 
of a distinguishel, though somewhat dissipated aspect. 

“ This brooch is yours said I, exhibiting it without delay 
or preface. 

‘‘ It is ; and I am here to know what your singular advertise- 
ment means?” 


MARY RINGSFORD. 


161 


I briefly explained the situation of aflairs. 

“ The rascals !’’ he broke in almost before I had finished ; 
“ I will briefly explain it all. A fellow of the name of Hart- 
ley, at least that was the name he gave, robbed me, I was 
pretty sure, of this brooch. I pointed him out to the police, 
and he was taken into custody ; but nothing being found upon 
him, he was discharged.” 

Not entirely, Mr. Bagshawe, on that account. You refused, 
when arrived at the station-house, to state what you had been 
robbed of ; and you, moreover, said, in presence of the culprit, 
that you were to embark with your regiment for India the next 
day. That regiment, I have ascertained, did embark, as you 
said it would.” 

“ True ; but I had leave of absence, and shall take the 
Overland route. The truth is, that during the walk to the 
station-house, I had leisure to reflect that if I made a formal 
charge, it would lead to awkward disclosures. This brooch is 
an imitation of one presented me by a valued relative. Losses 
at play — since, for this unfortunate young woman’s sake, T 
misi out with it — obliged me to part with the original ; and 
I wore this, in order to conceal the fact from my relative's 
knowledge.” 

“ This will, sir,” I -eplied, “ prove, with a little manage- 
ment, quite sufficient for all purposes. You have no objection 
to accompany me to the superintendent .^” 

‘‘ Not in the least : only I wish the devil had the brooch as 
well as the fellow that stole it.” 

About half-past five o’clock on the same evening, the street 
door was quietly opened by the landlord of the house in which 
Mr. Saville lodged, and I walked into the front room on the 
first floor, where I found the gentleman I sought languidly re- 


162 


MARY KINGSFORD. 


dining on a sofa. He gathered himself smartly up at my ap- 
pearance, and looked keenly in my face. He did not appear to 
like what he read there. 

“ I did not expect to see you to-day,” he said at last. 

“ No, perhaps not: but I have news for you. Mr. Bag- 
shawe, the owner of the hundred and twenty guinea brooch your 
deceased uncle gave you, did not sail for India, and” 

The wretched cur, before I could conclude, was on his knees 
begging for mercy with disgusting abjectness. I could have 
spurned the scoundrel where he crawled. 

‘‘ Come, sir !” I cried, “ let us have no snivelling or hum- 
bug : mercy is not in my power, as you ought to know. Strive 
to deserve it. We want Hartley and Simpson, and cannot find 
them : you must aid us.” 

“ Oh yes ; to be sure I will !” eagerly rejoined the rascal 
“ I will go for them at once,” he added with a kind of hesita- 
ting assm’ance. 

“ Nonsense ! Send for them, you mean. Do so, and I will 
wait their arrival.” 

His note was despatched by a sure hand ; and meanwhile I 
arranged the details of the expected meeting. I, and a friend, 
whom I momently expected, would ensconce ourselves be- 
hind a large screen in the room, whilst Mr. Augustus Saville 
would run playfully over the charming plot with his two 
friends, so that we might be able to fully appreciate its mer 
its. Mr. Saville agreed. I rang the bell, an officer appear- 
ed, and we took our posts in readiness. We had scarcely 
done so, when the street-bell rang, and Saville announced the 
arrival of his confederates. There was a twinkle in the fel- 
low’s green eyes which I thought I understood. “ Do not try 
that on, Mr. Augustus Seville,” I quietly remarked: “we 


MART KtNOSFORD. 


163 


are but two here certainly, but there arc half a dozen in wait- 
ing below.” 

No more was said, and in another minute the friends met. 
It was a boisterously jolly meeting, as far as shaking hands 
and mutual felicitations or each other’s good looks and health 
went. Saville was, I thought, the most obstreperously gay of 
all three. 

‘‘ And yet now I look at you, Saville, closely,” said Hartley, 
“ you don’t look quite the thing. Have you seen a ghost 

“ No ; but this cursed brooch affair worries me.” 

“ Nonsense ! — ^humbug ! — it’s all right : we are all embarked 
in the same boat. It’s a regular three-handed game. I prig- 
ged it; Simmy here whipped it into pretty Mary’s reticule, 
which she, I suppose, never looked into till the row came ; and 
you claimed it— a regular merry-go-round, aint it, eh.? Ha* 
ha ! ha ! Ha !” 

“ Quite so, Mr. Hartley,” said I, suddenly facing him, and 
at the same time stamping on the floor ; “ as you say, a de- 
lightful merry-go-round ; and here, you perceive,” I added, 
as the officers crowded into the room, “ are more gentlemen 
to join in it.” 

I must not stain the paper with the curses, imprecations, 
blasphemies, which for a brief space resounded through the 
apartment. The rascals were safely and separately locked up a 
quarter of an hour afterwards ; and before a month had passed 
away, all three were transported. It is scarcely necessary to 
remark, that they believed the brooch to be genuine, and of 
great value. 

Mary Kingsford did not need to return to her employ. West- 
lake the elder withdrew his veto upon his son’s choice, and 
the wedding was celebrated in the following May with great 


164 


MART KING8FORD. 


rejoicing; Mary’s old playmate oflBciating as bride-maid, and 
I as bride’s-father. The still young couple have now a 
rather numerous family, and a home blessed with affection, 
peace, and competence. It was some time, however, before 
Mary recovered from the shock of her London adventure ; 
and I am pretty sure that the disagreeable reminiscences in- 
eparably connected in her mind with the metropolis, will pre- 
vent at least om. person from being present at the World ’e 
Grreat Fair. 


f^ri I. 


FLINT JACKSON. 

Farnham hops are world-famous, or at least famous in tha 
huge portion of the world where English ale is drunk, and 
whereon, I have a thousand times heard and read, the sun 
never sets. The name, therefore, of the pleasant Surrey vil- 
lage, in and about which the events I am about to relate 
occurred, is, I may fairly presume, known to many of my 
readers. I was ordered to Farnham, to investigate a case of 
burglary, committed in the house of a gentleman of the name 
of Hursley, during the temporary absence of the family, which 
had completely nonplussed the unpractised Dogberrys of the 
place, albeit it was not a riddle at all dijficult to read. The 
premises, it was quickly plain to me, had been broken, not into, 
but out of ; and a watch being set upon the motions of the very 
specious and clever person left in charge of the house and prop- 
erty, it was speedily discovered that the ‘ robbery had been 
effected by herself and a confederate, of the name of Dawkins, 
her brother-in-law. Some of the stolen goods wer. found se- 
creted at his lodgings ; but the most valuable portion, consist- 
ing of plate, and a small quantity of jewelry, had disappeared : 
it had questionless been converted into money, as considera- 
ble sums, in sovereigns, were found upon both Dawkins and 
the woman, Sarah Purday. Now, as it had been c*earij ascer- 
tained that neither of the prisoners had left Farnham since 
the burglary, it was manifest there was a receiver near at hand 


166 


FLINT JACKSON. 


who had purchased the missing articles. Dawkins and Purday 
were, however, dumb as stones upon the subject ; and nothing 
occurred to point suspicion till early in the evening previous to 
the second examination of the prisoners before the magistrates, 
when Sarah Purday asked for pen, ink, and paper, for the 
purpose of writing to one Mr. Jackson, in whose service she 
had formerly lived. I happened to be at the prison, and of 
course took the liberty of carefully unsealing her note and 
reading it. It revealed nothing ; and save by its extremely 
cautious wording, and abrupt peremptory tone, coming from 
a servant to her former master, suggested nothing. I had 
carefully reckoned the number of sheets of paper sent into 
the cell, and now on recounting them found that three were 
missing. The turnkey returned immediately, and asked for 
the two other letters she had written. The woman denied 
having written any other, and for proof pointed to the torn 
fragments of the missing sheets lying on the floor. These 
were gathered up and brought to me, but I could make nothing 
out of them, every word having been carefully run through with 
the pen, and converted into an unintelligible blot. The request 
contained in the actually-written letter was one simple enough 
in itself, merely, “ that Mr. Jackson would not on any account 
fail to provide her, in consideration of past services, with legal 
assistance on the morrow.” The first nine words were strongly 
underlined ; and I made out after a good deal of trouble that 
the word “ pretence ” had been partially effaced, and “ ac- 
count ” substituted for it. 

“ She need not have wasted three sheets of paj)er upon such 
a nonsensical request as that,” observed the turnkey. “Old 
Jackson wouldn’t shell out sixpence to save her or anybody 
else from the gallows.” 


FLINT JACKSON. 


167 


“ 1 am of a different opinion ; but tell me, what sort of a 
person is this former master of hers 

“ All I know about him is that he’s a cross-grained, old 
curmudgeon, living about a mile out of Farnham, who scrapes 
money together by lending small sums upon notes-of-hand at 
short dates, and at a thundering interest Flint Jackson folk 
about here call him.” 

“ At all events, forward the letter at once, and to-morro 
we shall see — what we shall see. Good-evening.” 

It turned out as I anticipated. A few minutes after the 
prisoners were brought into the justice-room, a Guilford solic- 
itor of much local celebrity arrived, and announced that he 
appeared for both the inculpated parties. He was allowed a 
private conference with them, at the close of which he stated 
that his clients would reserve their defence. They were a 
once committed for trial, and I overheard the solicitor assure 
the woman that the ablest counsel on the circuit would be 
retained in their behalf. 

I had no longer a doubt that it was my duty to know some- 
thing further of this suddenly-generous Flint Jackson, though 
how to set about it was a matter of considerable difficulty. 
There was no legal pretence for a search-warrant, and I doubted 
the prudence of proceeding upon my own responsibility with so 
astute an old fox as J ackson was represented to be ; for, sup- 
posing him to be a confederate with the burglars, he had by this 
time in all probability sent the stolen property away — to Lon- 
don in all likelihood ; and should I find nothing, the conse- 
quences of ransacking his house merely because he had provided 
a former servant with legal assistance would be serious. Under 
these circumstances I wrote to headquarters for instructions, 
and by return of post received orders to prosecute the inquiry 


168 


FLINT JACKSOBT- 


thoroughly, but cautiously, and to consider time as nothing S4 
long as there appeared a chance of fixing Jackson with the 
guilt of receiving the plunder. Another suspicious circum- 
stance that I have omitted to notice in its place was that the 
Guilford solicitor tendered bail for the prisoners to any reasona- 
ble amount, and named Enoch Jackson as one of the securities. 
Bail was, however, refused. 

There was no need for over-hurrying the business, as the 
prisoners were committed to the Surrey Spring Assizes, and it 
was now the season of the hop-harvest — a delightful and hilari- 
ous period about Farnham when the weather is fine and the 
yield abundant. I, however, lost no time in making diligent 
and minute inquiry as to the character and habits of Jackson, 
and the result was a full conviction that nothing but the fear of 
being denounced as an accomplice could have induced such a 
miserly, iron-hearted rogue to put himself to charges in defence 
of the imprisoned burglars. 

One afternoon, whilst pondering the matter, and at the same 
time enjoying the prettiest and cheerfulest of rural sights, that 
of hop-picking, the apothecary at whose house I was lodging 
— we will call him Mr. Morgan ; he was a Welshman — tapped 
•ne suddenly on the shoulder, and looking sharply round, I 
perceived he had something he deemed of importance to com- 
municate. 

“ What is it I said quickly 

‘‘ The oddest thing in the world. There’s Flint Jackson, his 
leaf old woman, and the young people lodging with him, all 
drinking and boozing away at yon alehouse.” 

“ Shew them to me, if you please.” 

A few minutes brought us to the place of boisterous enter- 
tainment, the lower room of which was suffocatingly full of tip- 


FLINT JACKSON. 


169 


piers and tobacco-smoke. We nevertheless contrived to edge 
ourselves in ; and my companion stealthily pointed out the 
group, who were seated together near the farther window, and 
then left me to myself. 

The appearance of Jackson entirely answered to the popular 
prefix of Flint attached to his name. He was a wiry, gnarled, 
eavy-browed, iron-jawed fellow of about sixty, with deep-set 
eyes aglow with sinister and greedy instincts. His wife, older 
than he, and so deaf apparently as the door of a dungeon, wore 
a simpering, imbecile look of wonderment, it seemed to me, at 
the presence of such unusual and abundant cheer. The young 
people, who lodged with Jackson, were really a very frank, 
honest, good-looking couple, though not then appearing to 
advantage — the countenance of Henry Rogers being flushed 
and inflamed with drink, and that of his wife’s clouded with 
frowns, at the situation in which she found herself, and the 
riotous conduct of her husband. Their brief history was this : — 
They had both been servants in a family living not far distant 
from Farnham — Sir Thomas Lethbridge’s, I understood — when 
about three or four months previous to the present time, Flint 
Jackson, who had once been in an attorney’s ofiice, discovered 
that Henry Rogers, in consequence of the death of a distant 
relative in London, was entitled to property worth something 
like £1500. There were, however, some law -difficulties in 
the way, which Jackson offered, if the business was placed in 
his hands, to overcome for a consideration, and in the meantime 
to supply board and lodging and such necessary sums of money 
as Henry Rogers might require. With this brilliant prospect 
in view service became at once utterly distasteful. The for 
tunate legatee had for some time courted Mary Elkins, one of 
the ladies’ maids, a pretty, bright-eyed brunette ; and they 


170 


FLINT JACKSON. 


prere both united in the bonds of holy matrimony on the very 
day the “ warnings ” they had given expired. Since then they 
had lived at Jackson’s house in daily expectation of their “ for- 
tune,” with which they proposed to start in the public line. 

Finding myself unrecognized, I called boldly for a pot and 
a pipe, and after some manoeuvring contrived to seat myself 
within ear-shot of Jackson and his party. They presented a 
strange study. Henry Rogers was boisterously excited, and 
not only drinking freely himself, but treating a dozen fellows 
round him, the cost of which he from time to time called upon 
“ Old Flint,” as he courteously styled his ancient friend, to 
discharge. 

“Come, fork out. Old Flint!” he cried again and again 
It ’ll be all right, you know, in a day or two, and a few half- 
pence over. Shell out, old fellow I What signifies, so you’re 
happy 

Jackson complied with an affectation of acquiescent gaiety 
ludicrous to behold. It was evident that each successive pull 
at his purse was like wrenching a tooth out of his head, and 
yet while the dismalest of smiles wrinkled his wolfish mouth, 
he kept exclaiming ; “A fine lad — a fine lad I generous as a 
prince I Grood Lord, another round I He minds money no 
more than as if gold was as plentiful as gravel I But a fine 
generous lad for all that !” 

J ackson, I perceived, drank considerably, as if incited thereto 
by compressed savageness. The pretty young wife would not 
taste a drop, but tears frequently filled her eyes, and bitternes 
pointed her words as she vainly imploi\3d her husband to leave 
the place and go home with her. To all her remonstrances the 
maudlin drunkard replied only by foolery, varied occasionally 
t*y an attempt at a line or two of the song of “ The Thorn.” 


FLINT JACKSON. 


171 


“ But yoM^ will plant thorns, Henry,” rejoined the provoked 
wife in a louder and angrier tone than she ought perhaps to 
have used — “ not only in my bosom, but your own, if you go 
on in this sottish, disgraceful way.” 

“Always quarreling, always quarreling!” remarked Jack- 
son, pointedly, towards the bystanders — ^'‘always quarreling!” 

“Who is always quarreling.'^” demanded the young wife 
sharply. “ Do you mean me and Henry .^” 

“ I was only saying, my dear, that you don’t like your hus- 
band to be so generous and free-hearted — that’s all,” replied 
Jackson, with a confidential wink at the persons near him. 

“ Free-hearted and generous! Fool-hearted and crazy, you 
mean !” rejoined the wife, who was much excited. “ And you 
ought to be ashamed of yourself to give him money for such 
brutish purposes.” 

“Always quarreling, always quarreling!” iterated Jackson, 
but this time unheard by Mrs. Rogers — “ always^ perpetually 
quarreling !” 

I could not quite comprehend all this. If so large a sum as 
j£l500 was really coming to the young man, why should Jack- 
son wince as he did at disbursing small amounts which he could 
repay himself with abundant interest.? If otherwise — and it 
was probable he should not be repaid — what meant his eternal, 
“ fine generous lad !” “ spirited young man !” and so on .? 
What, above all, meant that look of diabolical hate which shot 
out from his cavernous eyes towards Henry Rogers when he 
thought himself unobserved, just after satisfying a fresh claim 
on his purse .? Much practice in reading the faces and deport- 
ment of such men made it pretty clear to me that Jackson’s 
course of action respecting the young man and his monejf wa> 
not yet decided upon in his own mind ; that he was still p r« 


172 


FLINT JACKSON. 


plexed and irresolute ; and hence the apparent contradiction in 
his words and acts. 

Henry Kogers at length dropped^ asleep with his head upon 
one of the settle-tables ; Jackson sank into sullen silence j the 
noisy room grew quiet ; and I came away. 

I was impressed with a belief that Jackson entertained some 
sinister design against his youthful and inexperienced lodgers 
and I determined to acquaint them with my suspicions. Fo* 
this purpose Mr. Morgan, who had a patient living near Jack- 
son’s house, undertook to invite them to tea on some early 
evening, on the pretence that he had heard of a tavern that 
might suit them when they should receive their fortune. Let 
me confess, too, that I had another design besides putting the 
young people on their guard against Jackson. I thought it 
very probable that it would not be difficult to glean from them 
some interesting and suggestive particulars concerning the ways, 
means, practices, outgoings and incomings, of their worthy land- 
lord’s household. 

Four more days passed unprofitably away, and I was becom 
ing weary of the business, when about five o’clock in the after- 
noon the apothecary galloped up to his door on a borrowed 
horse, jumped oflF with surprising celerity, and with a face as 
white as his own magnesia, burst out as he hurried into the 
room where I was sitting : “ Here’s a pretty kettle of fish ! 
Henry Rogers has been poisoned, and by his wife !’ 

‘‘ Poisoned !” 

“ Yes, poisoned; although, thanks to my being on the spot 
I think he will recover. But I must instantly to Dr. Edwards : 
I will tell you all when I return.” 

The promised “ all ” was this : Morgan was passing slowly 
by Jackson’s house, in the hope of seeing either Mr. or Mra, 


FLINT JACKSON. 


173 


Rogers, when the servant- woman, Jane Riddet, ran out and 
begged him to come in, as their lodger had been taken suddenly 
ill. Ill indeed ! The surface of his body was cold as death, 
and the apothecary quickly discovered that he had been poi- 
soned with sulphuric acid (oil of vitriol), a quantity of which 
he, Morgan, had sold a few days previously to Mrs. Rogers, 
who, when purchasing it, said Mr. Jackson wanted it to apply 
to some warts that annoyed him. Morgan fortunately knew the 
proper remedy, and desired Jackson, who was in the room, and 
seemingly very anxious and flurried, to bring some soap instantly, 
a solution of which he proposed to give immediately to the 
seemingly dying man. The woman-servant was gone to find 
Mrs. Rogers, who had left about ten minutes before, having first 
made the tea in which the poison had been taken. Jackson 
hurried out of the apartment, but was gone so long that Morgan, 
becoming impatient, scraped a quantity of plaster off" the wall, 
and administered it with the best effect. At last Jackson came 
back, and said there was unfortunately not a particle of soap in 
the house. A few minutes afterwards the young wife, alarmed 
at the woman-servant’s tidings, flew into the room in an agony 
of alarm and grief. Simulated alarm, crocodile grief, Mr. 
Morgan said ; for there could, in his opinion, be no doubt that 
she had attempted to destroy her husband. Mr. Jackson, on 
being questioned, peremptorily denied that he had ever desired 
Mrs. Rogers to procure sulphuric acid for him, or had received 
any from her — a statement which so confounded the young 
woman that she instantly fainted. The upshot was that Mrs. 
Rogers was taken into custody and lodged in prison. 

This terrible news flew through Farnham like wild-fire. In 
a few minutes it was upon everybody’s tongue : the hints of the 
quarrelsome life the young couple led, artfully spread by Jack- 


174 


FLINT JACKSON. 


SOU, were recalled, and no doubt appeared to be entertained of 
the truth of the dreadful charge. I had no doubt either, but 
ray conviction was not that of the Farnhara folk. This, then, 
was the solution of the struggle I had seen going on in Jack- 
son’s mind ; this the realization of the dark thought which I 
had imperfectly read in the sinister glances of his restless eyes. 
He had intended to destroy both the husband and wife — the 
one by poison, and the other by the law ! Doubtless, then, the 
j015OO had been obtained, and this was the wretched man’s 
infernal device for retaining it ! I went over with Morgan early 
the next morning to see the patient, and found that, thanks to 
the prompt antidote administered, and Dr. EdwSrds’ subsequent 
active treatment, he was rapidly recovering. The still-suffering 
young man, I was glad to find, would not believe for a moment 
in his wife’s guilt. I watched the looks and movements of 
Jackson attentively — a scrutiny which he, now aware of ray 
vocation, by no means appeared to relish. 

“ Pray,” said I, suddenly addressing Piddet, the woman- 
servant — “ pray, how did it happen that you had no soap in such 
a house as this yesterday evening 

“ No soap !” echoed the woman, with a stare of surprise. 
“ Why ” 

“ No — no soap,” hastily broke in her master with loud and 
menacing emphasis. “ There was not a morsel in the house. T 
bought some afterwards in Farnham.” 

The cowed and bewildered woman slunk away. I was more 
than satisfied ; and judging by Jackson’s countenance, which 
changed beneath my look to the color of the lime-washed wall 
against which he stood, he surmised that I was. 

My conviction, however, was not evidence, and I felt that I 
should need even more than my wonted good-fortune to bring 


FLINT JACKSON. 


175 


the black crime home to the real perpetrator. For the present, 
at all events, I must keep silence — a resolve I found hard to 
persist in at the examination of the accused wife, an hour oi 
two afterwards, before the county magistrates. Jackson had 
hardened himself to iron, and gave his lying evidence with 
ruthless self-possession. He had not desired Mrs. Rogers to 
purchase sulphuric acid; had not received any from her. In 
addition also to his testimony that she and her husband wer 
always quarreling, it was proved by a respectable person that 
high words had passed between them on the evening previous to 
the day the criminal offence was committed, and that foolish, 
passionate expressions had escaped her about wishing to be rid 
of such a drunken wretch. This evidence, combined with the 
medical testimony, appeared so conclusive to the magistrates, 
that spite of the unfortunate woman’s wild protestations of 
innocence, and the rending agony which convulsed her frame, 
and almost choked her utterence, she was remanded to prison 
till that day-week, when, the magistrates informed her, she 
would be again brought up for the merely formal completion 
of the depositions, and be then fully committed on the capital 
charge. 

I was greatly disturbed, and walked for two or three hours 
about the quiet neighborhood of Farnham, revolving a hundred 
fragments of schemes for bringing the truth to light, without 
arriving at any feasible conclusion. One only mode of procedure 
seemed to offer, and that but dimly, a hope of success. It was, 
however, the best I could hit upon, and I directed my steps 
towards the Farnham prison. Sarah Purday had not yet, I 
remembered, been removed to the county jail at Guilford. 

“ Is Sarah Purday,” I asked the turnkey, “ more reconciled 

to her position than she was 
12 


176 


FLINT JACKSON. 


‘‘ She’s just the same — bitter as gall, and venomous as a 
viper.” 

This woman, I should state, was a person of fierce will 
and strong passions, and in early life had been respectably 
situated. 

“Just step into her cell,” I continued, “ upon some excuse 
or other, and carelessly drop a hint that if she could prevail 
upon Jackson to get her brought by habeas before a judge in 
London, there could be no doubt of her being bailed.” 

The man stared, but after a few words of pretended explana- 
tion, went off to do as I requested. He was not long gone. 
“ She’s all in a twitteration at the thoughts of it,” he said ; 
“ and must have pen, ink, and paper, without a moment’s delay, 
bless her consequenee !” 

These were supplied ; and I was soon in possession of her 
letter, couehed cautiously, but more peremptorily than the for- 
mer one. I need hardly say it did not reach its destination. 
She passed the next day in a state of feverish impatience ; and 
no answer' returning, wrote again, her words this time conveying 
an evident though indistinct threat. I refrained from visiting 
her till two days had thus passed, and found her, as I expected, 
eaten up with fury. She glared at me as I entered the cell like 
a chained tigress. 

“ You appear vexed,” I said, “ no doubt because Jackson 
declines to get you bailed. He ought not to refuse you such a 
trifling service, considering all things.” 

“ All what things .^” replied the woman, eyeing me fiercely. 

“ That you know best, though I have a shrewd guess.” 

“ What do you guess } and what are you driving at 

“ I will deal frankly with you, Sarah Purday In the first 
place, you must plainly perceive that your frimd Jackson has 


FLINT JACKSON. 


177 


cast you off — abandoned you to your fate ; and that fate will, 
there can be no doubt, be transportation.” 

“ Well,” she impatiently snarled, “ suppose so ; what then 

“ This — that you can help yourself in this difficulty by help- 
ing me.” 

“ As how .?” 

‘‘ In the first place, give me the means of convicting Jackson 
of having received the stolen property.” 

“ Ha ! How do you know that 

“ Oh, I know it very well — as well almost as you do. Bui 
this is not my chief object ; there is another far more important 
one,” and I ran . over the incidents relative to the attempt at 
poisoning. ‘‘ Now,” I resumed, “ tell me, if you will, your 
opinion on this matter.” 

“ That it was Jackson administered the poison, and certainly 
not the young woman,” she replied with vengeful promptness. 

“ My own conviction ! This, then, is my proposition : — 
you are sharp-witted, and know this fellow’s ways, habits, and 
propensities thoroughly— I, too, have heard something of them 
— and it strikes me that you could suggest some plan^ some 
device grounded on that knowledge, whereby the truth might 
come to light.” 

The woman looked fixedly at me for some time without 
speaking. As I meant fairly and honestly by her I could bear 
her gaze without shrinking. 

“ Supposing I could assist you,” she at last said, “ how would 
that help me .^” 

“ It would help you greatly. You would no doubt be still 
convicted of the burglary, for the evidence is irresistible ; but 
if in the meantime you should have been instrumental in saving 
the life of an innocent person, and of bringing a great criminal 


178 


FLINT JACKSON. 


to justice, there cannot be a question that the Queen’s mercy 
would be extended to you, and the punishment be merely a 
nominal one.” 

“If I were sure of that!” she murmured with a buiming 
scrutiny in her eyes, which were still fixed upon my counte- 
nance — “ if I were sure of that I But you are misleading 
me.” 

“ Believe me, I am not. I speak in perfect sincerity. Take 
time to consider the matter. I will look in again in about an 
hour; and pray, do not forget that it is your sole and last 
chance.” 

I left her, and did not return till more than three hours had 
passed away. Sarah Purday was pacing the cell in a frenzy of 
inquietude. 

“ I thought you had forgotten me. Now,” she continued 
with rapid vehemence, “ tell me, on your word and honor as a 
man, do you truly believe that if I can effectually assist you it 
will avail me with Her Majesty .^” 

“ I am as positive it will as I am of my own life.” 

“Well, then, I will assist you. First, then, Jackson was a 
confederate with Dawkins and myself, and received the plate 
and jewelry, for which he paid us less than one-third of the 
value.” 

“ Rogers and his wife were not, I hope, cognizant of this 

“ Certainly not ; but Jackson’s wife, and the woman-servant, 
Riddet, were. I have been turning the other business over in 
my mind,” she continued, speaking with increasing emotion and 
rapidity ; “and oh, believe me, Mr. Waters, if .you can, that it 
is not solely a selfish motive which induces me to aid in saving 

Mary Rogers from destruction. I was once myself Ah 

God!” 


FLINT JACKSON. 


179 


Tears welled up to the fierce eyes, but they were quicEly 
brushed away, and she continued somewhat more calmly : — 
“ You have heard, I dare say, that Jackson has a strange habit 
of talking in his sleep 

“ I have, and that he once consulted Morgan as to whether 
there was any cure for it. It was that which partly sug- 
gested ” 

“ It is, I believe, a mere fancy of his,” she interrupted ; ‘‘ or 
at any rate the habit is not so frequent, nor what he says so 
intelligible, as he thoroughly believes and fears it, from some 
former circumstances, to be. His deaf wife cannot undeceive 
him, and he takes care never even to doze except in her 
presence only.” 

“ This is not, then, so promising as I hoped.” 

‘‘ Have patience. It is full of promise, as we will manage 
Every evening Jackson frequents a low gambling-house, where 
he almost invariably wins small sums at cards — by craft, no 
doubt, as he never drinks there. When he returns home at 
about ten o’clock, his constant habit is to go into the front- 
parlor, where his wife is sure to be sitting at that hour. He 
carefully locks the door, helps himself to brandy and water — 
plentifully of late — and falls asleep in his arm-chair ; and there 
they both doze away, sometimes till one o’clock — always till 
past twelve.” 

“ Well ; but I do not see how ” 

“ Hear me out, if you please. Jackson never wastes a can- 
dle to drink or sleep by, and at this time of the year there will 
be no fire. If he speaks to his wife he does not expect her, 
from her wooden deafness, to answer him. Do you begin to 
perceive my drift 

“ Upon my word, I do not.” 


180 


FLINT JACKSON. 


’ ‘‘ What ; if upon awaking, Jackson finds that his wife is Mr. 
Waters, and that Mr. Waters relates to him all that he has dis- 
closed in his sleep : that Mr. Hursley’s plate is buried in the 
garden near the lilac-tree ; that he, Jackson, received a thou- 
sand pounds six weeks ago of Henry Roger’s fortune, and that 
the money is now in the recess on the top-landing, the key of 
which is in his breast-pocket ; that he was the receiver of the 
plate stolen from a house in the close at Salisbury a twelve- 
month ago, and sold in London for four hundred and fifty 
pounds. All this hurled at him,” continued the woman with 
wild energy and flashing eyes, ‘‘ what else might not a bold, 
quick-witted man make him believe he had confessed, revealed 
in his brief sleep 

I had been sitting on a bench ; but as these rapid disclosm-es 
burst from her lips, and I saw the use to which they might be 
turned, I rose slowly and in some sort involuntarily to my feet, 
lifted up, as it were, by the energy of her fiery words. 

“ God reward you !” I exclaimed, shaking both her hands in 
mine. “You have, unless I blunder, rescued an innocent 
woman from the scaffold. I see it all. Farewell !” 

“ Mr. Waters,” she exclaimed, in a changed, palpitating 
voice, as I was passing forth ; “ when all is done, you will not 
forget me 

“ That I will not, by my own hopes of mercy in the here- 
after. Adieu !” 

At a quarter past nine that evening I, accompanied by two 
Farnham constables, knocked at the door of Jackson’s house 
Henry Rogers, I should state, had been removed to the village. 
The door was opened by the woman-servant, and we went in 
“ 1 have a warrant for your arrest, Jane Riddet,” I said, “ as 
m accomplice in the plate stealing the other day. There, don’t 


FLINT JACKSON. 


181 


scream, but listen to me.” I then intimated the terms upon 
which alone she could expect favor. She tremblingly promised 
compliance ; and after placing the constables outside, in conceal 
ment, but within hearing, I proceeded to the parlor, secured the 
terrified old woman, and confined her safely in a distant out- 
house. 

“ Now, Riddet,” I said, “ quick with one of the old lady’s 
gowns, a shawl, cap, etcetera^ These were brought, and I 
returned to the parlor. It was a roomy apartment, with small, 
diamond-paned windows, and just then but very faintly illumined 
by the star-light. There were two large high-backed easy- 
chairs, and I prepared to take possession of the one recently 
vacated by Jackson’s wife. “ You must perfectly understand,” 
were my parting words to the trembling servant, ‘‘ that we 
intend standing no nonsense with either you or your master. 
You cannot escape ; but if you let Mr. Jackson in as usual, 
and he enters this room as usual, no harm will befall you : 
if otherwise, you will be unquestionably transported. Now, 
go.” 

My toilet was not so easily accomplished as I thought- it would 
be. The gown did not meet at the back by about a foot ; that, 
however, was of little consequence, as the high-chair concealed 
the deficiency ; neither did the shortness of the sleeves matter 
much, as the ample shawl could be made to hide my too great 
length of arm ; but the skirt was scarcely lower than a High- 
lander’s, and how the deuce I was to crook my booted legs up 
out of view, even in that gloomy starlight, I could hardly ima- 
gine The cap also was far too small ; still, with an ample 
kerchief in my hand, my whiskers might, I thought, be con- 
cealed. I was still fidgeting with these arrangements when 
Jackson knocked at his door. The servant admitted him with- 


182 


FLINT JA:;K80N 


out remark, and he presently entered the room, carefully locked 
the door, and jolted down, so to speak, in the fellow easy-chair 
to mine. 

He was silent for a few moments, and then he bawled out : 
“ She’ll swing for it, they say — swing for it, d’ye hear, dame r 
But no, of course she don’t — deafer and deafer, deafer and 
deafer every day. It’ll be a precious good job when the par- 
son says his last prayers over her as well as others.” 

He then got up, and went to a cupboard. I could hear — 
for I dared not look up — by the jingling of glasses and the out- 
pouring of liquids that he was helping himself to his spirituous 
sleeping-draughts. He reseated himself, and drank in moody 
silence, except now and then mumbling drowsily to himself, but 
in so low a tone that I could make nothing out of it save an 
occasional curse or blasphemy. It was nearly eleven o’clock 
before the muttered self-communing ceased, and his heavy head 
sank upon the back of the easy-chair. He was very restless, 
and it was evident that even his sleeping brain labored with 
affrighting and oppressive images ; but the mutterings, as before 
he slept, were confused and indistinct. At length — half an 
hour had perhaps thu" passed — the troubled meanings became 
for a few moments clearly audible. “ Ha — ha — ha !” he burst 
out, “ how are you off for soap } Ho — ho ! done there, my 
boy ; ha — ha ! But no — no. Wall-plaster ! Who could have 

thought it } But for that I — I What do you stare at me 

BO for, you infernal blue-bottle r You- -you ” Again the 

dream-utterance sank into indistinctness, and I comprehended 
nothing more. 

About half-past twelve o’clock he awoke, rose, stretched 
himself, and said : — “ Come, dame, let’s to bed ; it’s getting 
chilly here.” 


FLINT JACKSON. 


183 


“ Dame ” did not answer, and he again went towards the 
cupboard. “ Here’s a candle-end will do for us,” he mutered 
A lucifer-match was drawn across the wall, he lit the candle., 
and stumbled towards me, for he was scarcely yet awake. 
“ Come, dame, come ! Why, thee beest sleeping like a 

dead un ! Wake up, will thee Ah ! murder ! thieves ! 

mur ” 

My grasp was on the wretch’s throat ; but there was no 
occasion to use force : he recognized me, and nerveless, para 
lyzed, sank on the floor incapable of motion much less of resist- 
anoc, and could only gaze in my face in dumb affright and 
horror. 

‘‘ Grive me the key of the recess up stairs, which you carry in 
your breast-pocket. In your sleep, unhappy man, you have 
revealed every thing.” 

An inarticulate shriek of terror replied to me. I was silent ; 
and presently he gasped : “ Wha — at, what have I said .?” 

“ That Mr. Hursley’s plate is buried in the garden by the 
lilac-tree ; that you have received a thousand pounds belonging 
to the man you tried to poison ; that you netted four hundred 
and fifty pounds by the plate stolen at Salisbury ; that you dex- 
terously contrived to slip the sulphuric acid into the tea unseen 
by Henry Roger’s wife.” 

The shriek or scream was repeated, and he was for several 
moments speechless with consternation. A ray of hope gleamed 
suddenly in his flaming eyes. “It is true — it is true!” he 
hurriedly ejaculated ; “ useless — useless — useless to deny it 
But you are alone, and poor, poor, no doubt. A thousand 
pounds ! — more, more than that : two thousand pounds in gold 
— gold, all in gold — I will give you to spare me, to let me 



184 


FLINT JACKSON. 


“ Where did you hide the soap on the day when you confess 
you tried to poison Henry Rogers r” 

“In the recess you spoke of. But think! Two thousand 

pounds in gold — all in gold ” 

As he spoke, I suddenly grasped the villain’s hands, pressed 
them together, and in another instant the snapping of a hand- 
cuff pronounced my answer. A yell of anguish burst from the 
miserable man, so loud and piercing, that the constables outside 
hm-ried to the outer-door, and knocked hastily for admittance. 
They were let in by the servant-woman ; and in half an hour 
Afterwards the three prisoners — Jackson, his with, and Jano 
Riddet — were safe in Farnham prison. 

A few sentences will conclude this narrative. Mary Rogers 
was brought up on the following day, and, on my evidence, dis- 
charged. Her husband, I have heard, has since proved a better 
and a wiser man. Jackson was convicted at the Guilford assize 
of guiltily receiving the Hursley plate, and sentenced to trans- 
portation for life. This being so, the graver charge of attempt- 
ing to poison was not pressed. There was no moral doubt of his 
guilt ; but the legal proof of it rested solely on his own hurried 
confession, which counsel would no doubt have contended ought 
not to be received. His wife and the servant were leniently 
dealt with. 

Sarah Purday was convicted, and sentenced to transportation. 
1 did not forget my promise ; and a statement of the previously- 
narrated circumstances having been drawn up and forwarded to 
the Queen and the Home Secretary, a pardon, after some delay, 
was issued. There were painful circumstances in her history 
which, after strict inquiry, told favorably for her. Several 
benevolent persons interested themselves in her behalf, and she 


FLINT JACKSON. 


185 


sent out to Canada, where she had some relatives, and has, 
I believe, prospered there. 

This affair caused considerable hubbub at the time, and much 
admiration was expressed by the country people at the boldness 
and dexterity of the London “ runner whereas, in fact, the 
successful result was entirely attributable to the opportune revc 
ations of Sarah Purdaj. 





THE MODERN SCIENCE OF THIEF-TAKING. 

If thieving be an Art (and who denies that its more subtle 
and delicate branches deserve to be ranked as one of the Fine 
Arts?), thief- taking is a Science. All the thief's ingenuity, 
all his knowledge of human nature ; all his courage ; all his 
coolness ; all his imperturbable powers of face ; all his nice 
discrimination in reading the countenances of other people ; 
all his manual and digital dexterity ; all his fertility in ex- 
pedients, and promptitude in acting upon them ; all his Protean 
cleverness of disguise and capability of counterfeiting every 
sort and condition of distress ; together with a great deal more 
patience, and the additional qualification, integrity, are de- 
manded for the higher branches of thief-taking. 

If an urchin picks your pocket, or a bungling “ artist” steals 
your watch so that you find it out. in an instant, it is easy 
enough for any private in any of the seventeen divisions of Lon- 
don Police to obey your panting demand to “Stop thief!” 
But the tricks and contrivances of those who wheedle money 
out of your pocket rather than steal it ; who cheat you with 
your eyes open ; who clear every vestige of plate out of your 
pantry while your servant is on the stairs ; who set up imposing 
warehouses, and ease respectable firms of large parcels of goods ; 
who steal the acceptances of needy or dissipated young men ; — • 
for the detection and punishment of such impostors a superior 
order of police is requisite. 


190 


THE MODERN SCIENCE OF THIEF-TAKING. 


To each division of* the Force is attached two officers, who are 
denominated “detectives.” The staff, or head-quarters, con- 
sists of six sergeants and two inspectors. Thus the Detective 
Police, of which we hear so much, consists of only forty-two 
individuals, whose duty it is to wear no uniform, and to perform 
the most difficult operations of their craft. They have not only 
to counteract the machinations of every sort of rascal whose only 
means of existence is avowed rascality, but to clear up family 
mysteries, the investigation of which demands the utmost deli- 
cacy and tact. 

One instance will show the difference between a regular and 
a detective policeman. Your wife discovers on retiring for the 
night, that her toilette has been plundered ; her drawers are 
void ; except the ornaments she now wears, her beauty is as un- 
adorned as that of a quakeress : not a thing is left ; all the fond 
tokens you gave her when her pre-nuptial lover, are gone ; 
your own miniature, with its setting of gold and brilliants ; her 
late mother’s diamonds ; the bracelets “ dear papa” presented 
on her last birth-day ; the top of every bottle in the dressing- 
case brought from Paris by Uncle John, at the risk of his life, 
in February 1848, are off — but the glasses remain. Every 
valuable is swept away with the most discriminating villainy ; 
for no other thing in the chamber has been touched ; not a chair 
has been moved ; the costly pendule on the chimney-piece still 
ticks ; the entire apartment is as neat and trim as when it had 
received the last finishing sweep of the housemaid’s duster. 
The entire establishment runs frantically up stairs and down 
stairs ; and finally congregates in my Lady’s Chamber. Nobody 
knows anything whatever about it ; yet everybody offers a sug- 
gestion, although they have not an idea “who ever did it.” 
The housemaid bursts into tears ; the cook declares she think* 


THE MODERN SCIENCE OF THIEF-TAKING. 


191 


she is going into hysterics ; and at last you suggest sending for 
the Police ; which is taken as a suspicion of, and insult on the 
whole assembled household, and they descend into the lower 
regions of the house in the sulks. 

X 49 arrives. His face betrays sheepishness, combined with 
mystery. He turns his bulPs-eye into every corner, and upon 
every countenance (including that of the cat), on the premises. 
He examines all the locks, bolts, and bars, bestowing extra 
diligence on those which enclosed the stolen treasures. These 
he declares have been “ Wiolated by which he means that 
there has been more than one “ Rape of the Lock.” He then 
mentions about the non-disturbance of other valuables ; takes 
you solemnly aside, darkens his lantern, and asks if you suspee^ 
any of your servants, in a mysterious whisper, which implies that 
ht does. He then examines the upper bed-rooms, and in that 
of the female servants he discovers the least ‘valuable of the 
rings, and a cast-off silver tooth-pick between the mattresses. 
V ou have every confidence in your maids ; but what can you 
think } You suggest their safe custody ; but your wife inter- 
cedes, and the policeman would prefer speaking to his inspector 
before he locks anybody up. 

Had the whole matter remained in the hands of X 49, it is 
possible that your troubles would have lasted you till now. A 
train of legal proceedings — actions for defamation of character 
and suits for damages — would have followed, which would have 
cost more than the value of the jewels, and the entire execration 
of all your neighbors and every private friend of your domestics. 
But, happily, the Inspector promptly sends a plain, earnest- 
lookino- man, who announces himself as one of the two Detectivep 
of the X division. He settles the whole matter in ten minutes 
His examination is ended in five. As a connoisseur can deter- 


192 


THE MODERN SCIENCE OF THIEF-TAKINO. 


mine the painter of a picture at the first glance, or a wine-taster 
the precise vintage of a sherry by the merest sip ; so the Detect 
ive at once pounces upon the authors of the work of art under 
consideration, by the style of performance ; if not upon the pre- 
cise executant, upon the “ school” to which he belongs 
Having finished the toilette branch of the inquiry, he takes a 
short view of the parapet of your house, and makes an equally 
cursory investigation of the attic-window fastenings. His mind 
is made up, and most likely he will address you in these 
words : — 

“ All right, Sir. This is done by one of ‘ The Dancing 
School !’ ” 

“ Good Heavens !” exclaims your plundered partner. ‘‘ Im- 
possible, why our children go to Monsieur Pettitoes, of No. 81, 
and I assure you he is a highly respectable professor. As to 
his pupils, I — ” 

The Detective smiles and interrupts. “ Dancers,” he tells 
her, “ is a name ghen to the sort of burglar by whom she had 
been robbed ; and every branch of the thieving profession is 
divided into gangs, which are termed ‘ Schools.’ From No. 
82 to the end of the street the houses are unfinished. The 
thief made his way to the top of one of these, and crawled to 
your garrett” — 

“ But we are forty houses distant, and why did he not favor 
one of my neighbors with his visit .?” you ask. 

“ Either their uppermost stories are not so practicable, or the 
ladies have not such valuable jewels.” 

“ But how do they know that .?” 

“ By watching and inquiry. This affair may have been in 
action for more than a month. Your house has been watched ; 
your habits ascertained ; they have found out when you dine — 


THE MODERN SCIENCE OF THIEF-TAKING. 


193 


how long you remain in the dining-room. A day is select(5d ; 
while you are busy dining, and your servants busy waiting on 
you, the thing is done. Previously, many journeys have been 
made over the roofs, to find out the best means of entering your 
house. The attic is chosen ; the robber gets in, and creeps 
noiselessly, or ‘ dances’ into the place to be robbed.” 

‘‘ Is there any chance of recovering our property you ask 
anxiously, seeing the whole matter at a glance. 

“ I hope so. I have sent some brother officers to watch the 
Fences’ houses.” 

“ Fences 

“ Fences,” explains the Detective, in reply to your innocent 
wife’s inquiry, “are purchasers of stolen goods. Your jewels 
will be forced out of their settings, and the gold melted.” 

The lady tries, ineffectually, to suppress a slight scream. 

“We shall see, if, at this unusual hour of the night, there is 
any bustle in or near any of these places ; if any smoke is 
coming out of any one of their furnaces, where the melting takes 
place. I shall go and seek out the precise ‘ garrettcr’ — that’s 
another name these plunderers give themselves — whom I sus- 
pect. By his trying to tsell’ your domestics by placing the 
ring and toothpick in their bed, I think I know the man. It is 
just in his style.” 

The next morning, you find all these suppositions verified. 
The Detective calls, and obliges you at breakfast — after a sleep- 
less night — with a complete list of the stolen articles, and pro- 
duces some of them for identification. In three months, your 
wife gets nearly every article )»aek ; her damsels’ innocence is 
fully established ; and the thief is taken from his “ school’' to 
ipend a long holiday in a penal colony. 

This is a mere common-place transaction, compared with tb-t 
13 


194 


THE MODERN SCIENCE OF THIEF-T 4 «nvo. 


achievements of the staff of the little army of Detfi<4ive police- 
men at head-quarters. Sometimes they are called upon to 
investigate robberies ; so executed, that no human ingenuity 
appears to ordinary observers capable of finding the thief. He 
leaves not a trail or a trace. Every clue seems cut off ; but the 
experience of a Detective guides him into tracks quite invisible 
to other eyes. Not long since, a trunk was rifled at a fashion- 
able hotel. The theft was so managed, that no suspicion could 
rest on any one. The Detective sergeant who had been sent for, 
fairly owned, after making a minute examination of the case, 
that he could afford no hope of elucidating the mystery. As he 
was leaving the bed-room, however, in which the plundered 
portmanteau stood, he picked up an ordinary shirt-button from 
the carpet. He silently compared it with those on the shirts in 
the trunk. It did not match them. He said nothing, but hung 
about the hotel for the rest of the day. Had he been narrowly 
watched, he would have been set down for an eccentric critic of 
linen. He was looking out for a shirt-front or wristband with- 
out a button. His search was long and patient ; but at length 
it was rewarded. One of the inmates of the house showed a 
deficiency in his dress, which no one but a Detective would have 
noticed. He looked as narrowly as he dared at the pattern of 
the remaining fasteners. It corresponded with that of the little 
tell-tale he had picked up. He went deeper into the subject, 
got a trace of some of the stolen property, ascertained a con- 
nexion between it and the suspected person, confronted him with 
he owner of the trunk, and finally succeeded in convicting him 
of the theft. — At another hotel-robbery, the blade of a knife, 
broken in the lock of a portmanteau, formed the clue. The 
Detective employed in that case was for some tiiim indefiitigable 
in seeking out knives with broken blades. At length he found 


THE MODERN SCIENCE OP THIEP-TAKINO. 


195 


one belonging to an under-waiter, who proved to have been the 
thief. 

The swell-mob — the London branch of which is said to con- 
sist of from one hundred and fifty to two hundred members — 
demand the greatest amount of vigilance to detect. They hold 
the fireplace in the ‘‘ profession.” 

Thei^,'mleverness consists in evading the law ; the most expert 
are seldom taken. One “ swell,” named Mo. Clark, had an 
iniquitous career of a quarter of a century, and never was cap- 
tured during that time. He died a “ prosperous gentleman” at 
Boulogne, whither he had retired to live on his “ savings,” 
which he had invested in house property. An old hand named 
White lived unharmed to the age of eighty ; but he had not 
been prudent, and existed on the contributions of the “ mob,” 
till his old acquaintances were taken away, either by transporta- 
tion or death, and the new race did not recognize his claims to 
their bounty. Hence he died in a workhouse. The average 
run of liberty which one of this class counts upon is four 
years. 

'J'he gains of some of the swell mob are great. They can 
always command capital to execute any especial scheme. Their 
ti aveling expenses are large ; for their harvests are great public 
occasions, whether in town or country. As an example of their 
profits, the exploits of four of them at the Liverpool Cattle 
Show some seven years ago, may be mentioned. The London 
Detective Police did not attend, but one of them waylaid the 
ogues at the Euston Station. After an attendance of four days, 
the gentleman he was looking for appeared, handsomely attired, 
the occupants of first-class carriages. The Detective, in the 
quietest manner possible, stopped their 1 iggage ; they entreated 
him to treat them like “ gentlemen ” He did so, and took 


196 


THE MODERN SCIENCE OF THIEF-TAKING. 


them into a private room, where they were so good as to offer 
him fifty pounds to let them go. He declined, and over-hauled 
their booty ; it consisted of several gold pins, watches, (some of 
great value,) chains and rings, silver snuff-boxes, and bank-nc^tes 
of the value of one hundred pounds ! Eventually, however, as 
owners could not be found for some of the property, and some 
others would not prosecute, they escaped with a pun- 
ishment. ^ ^ 

In order to counteract the plans of the swell mob, two of the 
sergeants of the Detective Police make it their business to 
know every one of them personally. The consequence is, that 
the appearance of either of these ofiicers upon any scene of 
operations is a bar to anything or anybody being “ done.” 
This is an excellent characteristic of the Detectives, for they 
thus become as well a Preventive Police. We will give an 
illustration : — 

You are at the Oxford commemoration. As you descend the 
broad stairs of the Roebuck to dine, “you overtake on the land- 
ing a gentleman of foreign aspect and elegant attire. The 
variegated pattern of his vest, the jetty gloss of his boots, and 
the exceeding whiteness of his gloves — ^ne of which he crushes 
in his somewhat delicate hand — convince you that he is going to 
the grand ball, to be given that evening at Merton. The glance 
he gives you while passing, is sharp, but comprehensive ; and 
if his eye does rest upon any one part of your person and its 
accessories more than another, it is upon the gold watch which 
you have just taken out to see if dinner be “due.” As yon 
step aside to make room for him, he acknowledges the courtesy 
with “ Par-r-r-don,” in the richest Parisian gros parle^ and a 
smile so full of intelligence and courtesy, that you hope he 
speaks English, for you set him down as an agreeable fellow. 


the modern tCIENCE OF THIEF-TAKING. 


197 


and mentally determine that if he dines in the Coffee-room, you 
will make his acquaintance. 

On the mat at the stair-foot there stands a man. A plain, 
honest-looking fellow, with nothing formidable in his appear- 
ance, or dreadful in his countenance ; but the effect his appari- 
tion takes on your friend in perspective, is remarkable. The 
poor little fellow raises himself on his toes, as if he had been 
suddenly overbalanced by a bullet ; his cheek pales, and his lip 
quivers, as he endeavors ineffectually to suppress the word 
“ coquin /” He knows it is too late to turn back (he evidently 
would, if he could), for the man’s eye is upon him. There is 
no help for it, and he speaks first ; but in a whisper. He takes 
the new comer aside, and all you can overhear is spoken by 
the latter, who says he insists on Monsieur withdrawing his 
“ School” by the seven o’clock train. 

You imagine him to be some poor wretch of a schoolmaster 
in difficulties ; captured, alas, by a bailiff. They leave the inn 
together, perhaps for a sponging house. So acute is your pity, 
that you think of rushing after them, and offering bail. You 
are, however, very hungry, and, at this moment, the waiter 
announces that dinner is on table. 

In the opposite box there are covers for four, but only three 
convives. They seem quiet men — not gentleman, decidedly, 
but well enough behaved. 

“ What has become of Monsieur asks one. None of 
them can divine. 

“ Shall we wait any longer for him P' 

“ Oh, no — Waiter — Dinner 

By their manner, you imagine that the style of the Roebuck 
is a “cut above them.” They have not been much used tc 
plate. The silver forks are sc curiously heavy, that one of th 


198 


THE MODERN SCIENCE OF THIEF-TAKING. 


guests, in a dallying sort of way, balances a prong across his 
fingers, while the chasing of tlie castors engages the attention of 
a second. This is all done while they talk. When the fish is 
brought, the third casts a careless glance or two at the dish 
cover, and when the waiter has gone for the sauce, he taps it 
with his nails, and says enquiringly to his friend across the table 
“ Silver 

The other shakes his head, and intimates a hint that it is oidy 
plated. The waiter brings the cold punch, and the party begin 
to enjoy themselves. They do not drink much, but they mix 
their drinks rather injudiciously. They take sherry upon cold 
punch, and champagne upon that, dashing in a little port and 
bottled stout between. They are getting merry, not to say 
jolly, but not at all inebriated. The amateur of silver dish- 
covers has told a capital story, and his friends are revelling in 
the heartiest of laughs, when an apparition appears at the end 
of the table. You never saw such a change as his presence 
causes, when he places his knuckles on the edge of the table and 
looks at the diners seriatim ; the courtiers of the sleeping beauty 
suddenly struck somniferous were nothing to this change. As 
if by magic, the loud laugh is turned to silent consternation 
You now, most impressively, understand the meaning of the 
term “ dumbfoundered.” The mysterious stranger makes some 
enquiry about “ any cash 

The answer is “ Plenty.” 

“ All square with the landlord, then : asks the same inflexi 
ble voice as — to my astonishment — that which put the French 
man to the torture. 

“ To a penny,” the reply. 

“ Quite square .^” continues the querist, taking with his bus} 
eye a rapid inventory of the plate. 


THE MODERN SCIENCE OF THIEF-TAKING. 


199 


“ S’ help me ” 

‘‘ Hush !” interrupts the dinner spoiler, holding up his hand 
in a cautionary manner. “ Have you done anything to-day 
Not a thing.” 

Then there is some more in a low tone ; but you again dis- 
tinguish the word “school,” and “seven o’clock train.” They 
are too old to be the Frenchman’s pupils ; perhaps they are his 
assistants. Surely they are not all the victims of the same 
capias and the same officer ! 

By this time the landlord, looking very nervous, arrives with 
his bill : then comes the head waiter, who clears the table ; 
carefully counting the forks. The reckoning is paid, and the 
<no steal out of the room with the man of mystery behind them, 

-like sheep driven to the shambles. 

You follow to the Railway station, and thero you see the 
Frenchman, who complains bitterly of being “ sold for noting” 
by his enemy. The other three utter a confirmative groan. In 
spite of the evident omnipotence of their persevering follower, 
your curiosity impels you to address him. You take a turn on 
the platform together, and he explains the whole mystery. 
“ The fact is,” he begins, “ I am Sergeant Witchem, of the 
Detective police.” 

“ And your four viciims are — 

“ Members of a crack school of swell-mobsmen.” 

“ What do you mean by ‘ school P ” 

“ Gang. There is a variety of gangs — that is to say, of men 
who ‘ work’ together, who play into one another’s hands. These 
gentlemen hold the first rank, both for skill and enterprise, and 
had they been allowed to remain would have brought back a 
tonsiderable booty. Their chief is the Frenchman.” 

“ Why do they obey your orders so passively ?” 


200 


THE MODERN SCIENCE OF THIEF-TAKING. 


“ Because they are sure that if I were to take them into cus- 
tody, which I could do, knowing what they are, and present 
them before a magistrate, they would all be committed to prison 
for a month, as rogues and vagabonds.” 

“ They prefer then to have lost no inconsiderable capital in 
dress and dinner, to being laid up in jail.” 

“ Exactly so.” 

The bell rings, and all five go off into the same carriage to 
London. 

This is a circumstance that actually occurred ; and a similar 
one happened when the Queen went to Dublin. The mere ap- 
pearance of one the Detective officers before a “ school” which 
had transported itself in the Boyal train, spoilt their specula- 
tion ; for they all found it more advantageous to return to 
England in the same steamer with the officer, than to remain 
with the certainty of being put in prison for fourteen or twenty- 
eight days as rogues and vagabonds. 

So thoroughly well acquainted with these men are the 
Detective officers we speak of, that they frequently tell what 
they have been about by the expression of their eyes and their 
general manner. This process is aptly termed “ reckoning 
them up.” Some days ago, two skilful officers, whose personal 
acquaintance with the swell mob is complete, were walking 
along the Strand on other business, when they saw two of the 
best dressed and best mannered of the gang enter a jeweller’s 
shop. They waited till they came out, and, on scrutinising 
them, were convinced, by a certain conscious look which they 
betrayed, that they had stolen something. They followed them, 
and in a few minutes something was passed from one to the 
other. The officers were convinced, challenged them with the 
theft, and succeeded in eventually convicting them of stealing 


Ttit MODERN SCIENCE OP THi EF-TAKING. 


201 


two gold eye-glasses, and several jeweled rings. “ The eve,’ 
said our informant, ‘Ms the gi’eat detector. We can tell in 
crowd what a swell -mobsman is about by the expression of his 
eye.” 

It is supposed that the number of persons who make a trade 
of thieving in London is not more than six thousand ; of these, 
nearly two hundred are first-class thieves or swell-mobsmen • 
six hundred “ macemen,” and trade swindlers, bill-swindlers, 
dog-stealers, &c. ; About forty burglars, “ dancers,” “ garret- 
teers,” and other adepts with the skeleton-keys. The rest are 
pickpockets, “ gonophs — ” mostly young thiever who sneak 
into areas, and rob tills — and other pilferers. 

To detect and circumvent this fraternity, is the science of 
thief-taking. Here, it is, however, impossible to give even an 
imperfect notion of the high amount of skill, intelligence, and 
knowledge, concentrated in the character of a clever Detective 
'Policeman. We shall therefore finish the sketch in anothe’' 
part 


A DETECTIVE POLICE PARTY 


[n pursuance of the intention mentioned at the close of a 
former paper on “ The Modern Science of Thief»taking,” we 
now proceed to endeavor to convey to our readers some faint 
idea of the extraordinary dexterity, patience, and ingenuity, ex- 
ercised by the Detective Police. That our description may be 
as graphic as we can render it, and may be perfectly reliable, 
we will make it, so far as in us lies, a piece of plain truth And 
nrst, we have to inform the reader how the anecdotes we are 
about to communicate, came to our knowledge. 

We are not by any means devout believers in the Old Bow- 
Street Police. To say the truth, we think there was a vast 
amount of humbug about those worthies. Apart from many 
of them being men of very indifferent character, and far too 
much in the habit of consorting with thieves and the like, they 
never lost a public occasion of jobbing and trading in mystery 
and making the most of themselves. Continually puffed besides 
by incompetent magistrates anxious to co .ceal their own defi- 
ciencies, and hand-in-glove with the penny-a-liners of that time, 
they became a sort of superstition. Although as a Preventive 
Police they Were utterly ineffective, and as a Detective Police 
were very loose and uncertain in their operations, they remain 
with some people, a superstition to the present day. 

On the other hand, the Detective Force organized since the 
establishment of the existing Police, is so well chosen and trained, 


A DEIECTIVE POLICE PARTY. 


203 


proceeds so systematically and quietly, does its business in such 
a workman-like manner, and is always so calmly and steadilj 
engaged in the service of the public, that the public really do 
not know enough of it, to know a tithe of its usefulness. Im- 
pressed with this conviction, and interested in the men them 
selves, we represented to the authorities at Scotland Yard, tha 
we should be glad, if there were no official objection, to have 
some talk with the Detectives. A most obliging and ready per- 
mission being given, a certain evening was appointed with a 
certain Inspector for a social conference between ourselves and 
the Detectives, at our Office in Wellington Street, Strand, Lon- 
don. In consequence of which appointment the party “ came 
off,” which we are about to describe. And we beg to repeat 
that, avoiding such topics as it might for obvious reasons be in- 
jurious to the public, or disagreeable to respectable individuals to 
touch upon in print, our description is as exact as we can make it. 

Just at dusk. Inspectors Wield and Stalker are announced ; 
but we do not undertake to warrpnt the orthography of any of 
the names here mentioned. Inspector Wield presents Inspector 
Stalker. Inspector Wield is a middle-aged man of a portly 
presence, with a large, moist, knowing eye, a husky voice, and 
a habit of emphasising his conversation by the aid of a corpulent 
fore-finger, which is constantly in juxta-position with his eyes or 
nose. Inspector Stalker is a shrewd, hard-headed Scotchman — 
in appearance not at all unlike a very acute, thoroughly-trained 
Bchool-master, from the Normal Establishment at Glasgow. In- 
spector Wield one might have known, perhaps, for what he is— 
Inspector Stalker, never. 

The ceremonies of reception over. Inspectors Wield and 
Stalker observe that they have brought some sergeants with 
them. The sergeants are presented — ^five in number. Sergeant 


204 


A DETECTIVE POLICE PARTY. 


Dornton, Sergeant Witchem, Sergeant Mith, Sergeant Fendall, 
and Sergeant Straw. We have the whole Detective Force from 
Scotland Yard with one exception. They sit down in a semi- 
circle (the two Inspectors at the two ends) at a little distance 
from the round table, facing the editorial sofa. Every man of 
them, in a glance, immediately takes an inventory of the furni- 
ture and an accurate sketch of the editorial presence. The 
Editor feels that any gentleman in company could take him up, 
if need should be, without the smallest hesitation, twenty years 
hence. 

The whole party are in plain clothes. Sergeant Dornton, 
about fifty years of age, with a ruddy face and a high sun-bui nt 
forehead, has the air of one who has been a Sergeant in the army 
— he might have sat to Wilkie for the Soldier in the Heading 
of the Will. He is famous for steadily pursuing the inductive 
process, and, from small beginnings, working on from clue to 
clue until he bags his man. Sergeant Witchem, shorter and 
thicker-set, and marked with the small-pox, has something of a 
reserved and thoughtful air, as if he were engaged in deep 
arithmetical calculations. He is renowned for his acquaintance 
with the swell mob. Sergeant Mith, a smooth-faced man with 
a fresh bright complexion, and a strange air of simplicity, is a 
dab at housebreakers. Sergeant Fendall, a light-haired, well- 
spoken, polite person, is a prodigious hand at pursuing private 
inquiries of a delicate nature. Straw, a little wiry Sergeant of 
meek demeanor and strong sense, would knock at a door and 
ask a series of questions in any mild character you chose to pre- 
scribe to him, from a charity-boy upwards, and seem as innocent 
as an infant. They are, one and all, respectable-looking men ; 
of ju'rfectly good deportment and unusual intelligence ; with 
Tiothing lounging or slinking in their manners ; with an air of 


A DETECTIVE POLICE PARTY. 


205 


keen observation, and quick perception when addressed ; and 
generally presenting in their faces, traces more or less marked 
of habitually leading lives of strong mental excitement. They 
have all good eyes ; and they all can, and they all do, look full 
at whomsoever they speak to. 

We light the cigars, and hand round the glasses (which are 
very temperately used indeed), and the conversation begins by 
a modest amateur reference on the Editorial part to the swell 
mob. Inspector Wield immediately removes his cigar from his 
lips, waves his right hand, and says, “ Regarding the Swell Mob, 
Sir, I can’t do better than call upon Sergeant Witcheni. Be- 
cause the reason why r I ’ll tell you. Sergeant Witchem 
is better acquainted with the Swell Mob than any officer in 
London.” 

Our heart leaping up when we beheld this rainbow in tlie 
sky, we turn to Sergeant Witchem, who very concisely, and in 
well-chosen language, goes into the subject forthwith. Mean- 
time, the whole of his brother officers are closely interested in 
attending to what he says, and observing its effect. Presently 
they begin to strike in, one or two together, when an opportunity 
offers, and the conversation becomes general. But these brother 
officers only come in to the assistance of each other — not to the 
contradiction — and a more amicable brotherhood there could not 
be. From the swell mob, we diverge to the kindred topics of 
cracksmen, fences, public-house dancers, area-sneaks, designing 
young people who go out “ gonophing,” and other “ schools,” to 
which our readers have already been introduced. It is observ- 
able throughout these revelations, that Inspector Stalker, the 
Scotchman, is always exact and statistical, and that when any 
question of figures arises, everybody as by one consent pauses, 
and looks to bin? 


206 


A DETECTIVE POLICE PARTY. 


When we have exhausted the various schools of Art — during 
which discussion the whole body have remained profoundly at- 
tentive, except when some unusual noise at the Theatre over 
the way, has induced some gentleman to glance inquiringly 
towards the window in that direction, behind his next neighbor’s 
back — we burrow for information on such points as the follow- 
ing. Whether there really are any highway robberies in Lon- 
don, or whether some circumstances not convenient to be men- 
tioned by the aggrieved party, usually precede the robberies 
complained of, under that head, which quite change their char- 
acter Certainly the latter, almost always. Whether in the 
case of robberies in houses, where servants are necessarily ex- 
posed to doubt, innocence under suspicion ever becomes so like 
guilt in appearance, that a good officer need be cautious how he 
judges it } Undoubtedly. Nothing is so common or deceptive 
as such appearances at first. Whether in a place of public 
amusement, a thief knows an officer, and an officer knows a 
thief, — supposing them, beforehand, strangers to each other — 
because each recognizes in the other, under all disguise, an in- 
attention to what is going on, and a purpose that is not the 
purpose of being entertained ' Yes. That’s the way exactly. 
Whether it is reasonable or ridiculous to trust to the alleged 
experiences of thieves as narrated by themselves, in prisons, or 
penitentiaries, or anywhere ? In general, nothing more absurd. 
Lying is their habit and their trade ; and they would rather lie 
— even if they hadn’t an interest in it, and didn’t want to make 
themselves agreeable — than tell the truth. 

From these topics, we glide into a review of the most cele- 
brated and horrible of the great crimes that have been committed 
within the last fifteen or twenty years. The men engaged in 
the discovery of almost all of them, and in the pursuit or appro.' 


A D E 1 E C T I V E POLICE P A R 1’ Y . 


207 


iiension of the murderers, are here, do^n to the very last in- 
stance. One of our guests gave chase to and boarded the Emi- 
grant Ship, in which the murderess last hanged in London was 
supposed to have embarked. We learn from him that his errand 
was not announced to the passengers, who may have no idea of 
it to this hour. That he went below, with the captain, lamp in 
hand — it being dark, and the whole steerage ahed and sea-sick — 
and engaged the Mrs. Manning who was on board, in a conver- 
.sation about her luggage, until she was, with no small pains, 
induced to raise her head, and turn her face towards the light. 
Satisfied that she was not the object of his search, he quietly re- 
embarked in the Grovernment steamer alongside, and steamed 
home again with the intelligence. 

When we have exhausted these subjects, too, which occupy a 
considerable time in the discussion, two or three leave their 
chairs, whisper Sergeant Witchem, and resume their seats. 
Sergeant Witchem, leaning forward a little, and placing a hand 
on each of his legs, then modestly speaks as follows : 

“ My brother-officers wish me to relate a little account of my 
taking Tally-ho Thompson. A man oughtn’t to tell what he 
has done himself; but still, as nobody was with me, and, con- 
sequently, as nobody but myself can tell it, I ’ll do it in the 
best way I can, if it should meet your approval.” 

We assure Sergeant Witchem that he will oblige us very 
much, and we all compose ourselves to listen with great interest 
nd attention. 

“ Tally-ho Thompson,” says Sergeant Witchem, after merely 
wetting his lips with his brandy and water, “ Tally-ho Thomp- 
son was a famous horse-stealer, couper, and magsman. • Thomp- 
son, in conjunction with a pal that occasionally worked with him, 
gammoned a countryman out of a good round sum of money, 


208 


A DETECTIVE POI'C^ PARTY. 


under pretence of getting him a situation — the regular old 
dodge — and was afterwards in the ‘ Hue and Cry’ for a horse — 
a horse that he stole, down in Hertfordshire. I had to look 
after Thompson, and I applied myself, of course, in the first 
instance, to discovering where he was. Now, Thompson’s wife 
lived, along with a little daughter, at Chelsea. Knowing that 
Thompson was somewhere in the country, I watched the house 
— especially at post-time in the morning — thinking Thompson 
was pretty likely to write to her. Sure enough, one morning 
the postman comes up, and delivers a letter at Mrs. Thompson’s 
door. Little girl opens the door, and takes it in. We’re not 
always sure of postmen, though the people at the post-ofl&ces are 
always very obliging. A postman may help us, or he may not, 
— ^just as it happens. However, I go across the road, and I say 
to the postman, after he has left the letter, ‘ Good morning ! 
how are you ‘ How are you P says he. ‘ You’ve just de- 
livered a letter for Mrs. Thompson.’ ‘ Yes, I have.’ ‘ You 
didn’t happen to remark what the post-mark was, perhaps P 
‘ No,’ says he, ‘ I didn’t.’ ‘ Come,’ says I, ‘ I ’ll be plain with 
you. I ’m in a small way of business, and I have given Thomp- 
son credit, and I can’t afford to lose what he owes me. I know 
he ’s got money, and I know he ’s^ in the country, and if you 
could tell me what the post-mark was, I should be very much 
obliged to you, and you ’d do a service to a tradesman in a small 
way of business that can’t afford a loss.’ ‘ Well,’ he said, ‘ I do 
assure you that I did not observe what the post-mark was ; all 
I know is, that there was money in the letter — I should say a 
sovereign.’ This was enough for me, because of course I knew 
that Thompson having sent his wife money, it was probable she ’d 
write to Thompson, by return of post, to acknowledge the re- 
ceipt So I said ‘ Thankee’ to the postman, and I kept on the 


A DETECTIVE POLICE PARTY. 


209 


lYatch. In the afternoon I saw the little girl come ont. Of 
course I followed her. She went into a stationer’s shop, and I 
needn’t say to you that I looked in at the window. She bought 
some writing-paper and envelopes, and a pen. I think to my- 
self, ‘ That ’ll do !’ — watch her home again — and don’t go away, 
you may be sure, knowing that Mrs. Thompson was wri^ng her 
letter to Tally-ho, and that the letter would be posted presently. 
In about an hour or so, out came the little girl again, with the 
letter in her hand. I went up, and said something to the child, 
whatever it might have been ; but I couldn’t see the direction 
of the letter, because she held it with the seal upwards. How- 
ever, I observed that on the back of the letter there was what 
'we call a kiss — a drop of wax by the side of the seal — and 
again, you understand, that was enough for me. I saw her post 
the letter, waited till she was gone, then went into the shop, and 
asked to see the Master. When he came out, I told him, ‘ Now, 
I ’m an Offieer in the Detective Force ; there’s a letter with a 
kiss been posted here just now, for a man that I ’ra in search 
of ; and what I have to ask of you is, that you will let me look 
at the direction of that letter.’ He was very civil — took a lot 
of letters from the box in the window — shook ’em out on the 
counter with the faces downwards — and there among ’em was 
the identical letter with the kiss. It was directed, Mr. Thomas 

Pigeon, Post-Office, B , to be left ’till called for. Down 

I went to B (a hundred and twenty miles or so) that 

night. Early next morning I went to the Post-Office ; saw the 
gentleman in charge of that department ; told him who I was •, 
and that my object was to see, and track, the party that should 
come for the letter for Mr. Thomas Pigeon. He was very po- 
lite, and said, ‘ You shall have every assistance we can give you ; 

you can wait inside the office ; and we ’ll take care to let you 
14 


210 


A DETECTIVE POLICE PARTY. 


know when anybody conics for the letter.’ Well, t waited there 
three days, and began to think that nobody ever would come. 
At last the clerk whispered to me, ‘ Here ' Detective ! Some- 
body ’s come for the letter !’ ‘ Keep him a xniimte,’ said I, and 

I ran round to the outside of the office. There I saw a young 
chap with the appearance of an Ostler, holding a horse by the 
bridle — stretching the bridle across the pavement, while he 
waited at the Post-Office Window for the letter. I began to 
pat the horse, and that ; and I said to the boy, ‘ Why, this is 
Mr. Jones’s Mare !’ ‘ No. It an’t.’ ‘ No V said I. ‘ She’s 

very like Mr. Jones’s Mare!’ ‘She an’t Mr. Jones’s Mare, 
anyhow,’ says he. ‘ It ’s Mr. So-and-So’s, of the Warwick 
Arms.’ And up he jumped, and off he went — letter and all. 
I got a cab, followed on the box, and was so quick after him 
that I came into the stable-yard of the Warwick Arms, by one 
gate, just as he came in by another. I went into the bar, where 
there was a young woman serving, and called for a glass of 
brandy and water. He came in directly, and handed her the 
letter. She casually looked at it, without saying anything, and 
stuck it up behind the glass over the chimney-piece. What 
was to be done next ? 

“ I turned it over in my mind while I drank my brandy and 
water (looking pretty sharp at the letter the while), but I 
couldn’t see my way out of it at all. I tried to get lodgings in 
the house, but there had been a horse-fair, or something of that 
port, and it was full. I was obliged to put up somewhere else, 
but I came backwards and forwards to the bar for a couple of 
days, and there was the letter, always behind the glass. At 
fast I thought I ’d write a letter to Mr. Pigeon myself, and see 
what that would do. So I wrote one, and posted it, but I pur- 
posely addressed it, Mr. John Pigeon, instead of Mr. Thomas 


A DETECTIVE POLICE PARTY. 


211 


Pigeon, to see what that would do. In the morning (a very 
wet morning it was) I watched the postman down the street, 
and cut into the bar, just before he reached the Warwick Arms. 
In he came presently with my letter. ‘ Is there a Mr. John 
Pigeon staying here V ‘ No ! — stop a bit though,’ says the 
bar-maid ; and she took down the letter behind the glass. ‘ No,’ 
says she, ‘ it ’s Thomas, and Jiz is not staying here. Would you 
do me a favor, and post this for me, as it is so wet The post- 
man said Yes ; she folded it in another envelop, directed it, 
and gave it him. He put it in his hat, and away he went. 

“ I had no difficulty in finding out the direction of that letter. 

It was addressed, Mr. Thomas Pigeon, Post-Office, R , 

Nr -thamptonshire, to be left till called for. Ofi* I started di- 
rectly for R ; I said the same at the Post-Office there, as 

I had said at B ; and again I waited three days before 

anybody came. At last another chap on horseback came. ‘ Any 
letters for Mr. Thomas Pigeon V ‘ Where do you come from V 

‘ New Inn, near R .’ He got the letter, and away hs, went 

— at a canter. 

‘‘ I made my enquiries about the New Inn, near R , and 

hearing it was a solitary sort of house, a little in the horse line 
about a couple of miles from the station, I thought I ’d go and 
nave a look at it. I found it what it had been described, and 
sauntered in, to look about me. The landlady was in the bar 
and I was trying to get into conversation with her ; asked her 
how business was, and spoke about the wet weather, and so on • 
when I saw, through an open door, three men sitting by the fire 
in a sort of parlor, or kitchen ; and one of those men, according 
to the description I had of him, was Tally-ho Thompson ! 

“ I went and sat down among ’em, and tried to make things 
Egreeable ; but they were very shy — wouldn’t talk at all — looked 


212 


A DETECTIVE POLICE PARTY 


at me, and at one another, in a way quite the reverse of socia- 
ble. I reckoned ’em up, and finding that they were all three 
bigger men than me, and considering that their looks were ugly 
— that it was a lonely place- ^railroad station two miles off — and 
night coming on — thought I couldn’t do better than have a drop 
of brandy and water to keep my courage up. So I called for 
my brandy and water ; and as I was sitting drinking it by th 
fire, Thompson got up and went out 

“ Now the difficulty of it was, that I wasn’t sure it was Thomp- 
son, because I had never set eyes on him before ; and what I 
had wanted was to be quite certain of him. However, there was 
nothing for it now, but to follow, and put a bold face upon it. I 
found him talking, outside in the yard, with the landlady. It 
turned out afterwards, that he was wanted by a Northampton 
officer for something else, and that, knowing that officer to be 
pock-marked (as I am myself), he mistook me for him. A» I 
have observed, I found him talking to the landlady, outside. I 
put my hand upon his shoulder— this way — and said, ‘ Tally-ho 
Thompson, it ’s no use. I know you. I ’m an officer from 
London, and I take you into custody for felony !’ ‘ That be 

d — d !’ says Tally-ho Thompson. 

‘‘We went back into the house, and the two filends began to 
cut up rough, and their looks didn’t please me at all, I assure 
you. ‘ Let the man go. What are you going to do with him 
‘ I ’ll tell you what I ’m going to do with him. I ’m going to 
take him to London to-night, as sure as I ’m alive. I ’m no 
alone here, whatever you may think. You mind your own busi 
ness, and keep yourselves to yourselves. It ’ll be better for you, 
for I know you both very well.’ /’d never seen or heard of 
’em in all my life, but my bouncing cowed ’em a bit, and they 
kept off, while Thompson was making ready to go. [ thought 


A DETECTIVE POLICE PARTY. 


213 


k) myself, however, that they might be^ coming after me on the 
dark road, to rescue Thompson ; so I said to the landlady, 
‘ What men have you got in the house. Missis r’ ‘We haven’t 
got no men here,’ she says, sulkily. ‘ You have got an ostler, 
I suppose ?’ ‘ Yes, we ’ve got an ostler.’ ‘Let me see him.’ 

Presently he came, and a shaggy-headed young fellow he was 
‘ Now attend to me, young man,’ says I ; ‘ I ’m a Detective 
Officer from London. This man’s name is Thompson. I have 
taken him into custody for felony. I ’m going to take him to 
the railroad station. I call upon you in the Queen’s name to 
assist me ; and mind you, my friend, you ’ll get yourself into 
more trouble than you know of, if you don’t !’ You never saw 
a person open his eyes so wide. ‘ Now, Thompson, come along !’ 
says I. But when I took out the handcuffs, Thompson cries, 
‘ No ! None of that ! I won’t stand them ! I ’ll go along with 
you quiet, but I won’t bear^none of that !’ ‘ Tally-ho Thomp- 

son,’ I said, ‘ I ’m willing to behave as a man to you, if you are 
willing to behave as a man to me. Give me your word that 
you ’ll come peaceably along, and I don’t want to handcuff you.’ 
‘ I will,’ says Thompson, ‘ but I ’ll have a glass of brandy first ’ 
‘ I don’t care if I ’ve another,’ said I. ‘We ’ll have two more, 
Missis,’ said the friends, ‘ and con-found you. Constable, you ’ll 
give your man a drop, won’t you I was agreeable to that, so 
we had it all round, and then my man and I took Tally-ho 
Thompson safe to the railroad, and I carried him to London 
that night. He was afterwards acquitted, on account of a de- 
fect in the evidence ; and I understand he always praises me up 
to the skies, and says I ’m one of the best of men.” 

This story coming to a termination amidst general applause, 
Inspector Wield, after a little grave smoking, fixes his eye on 
his host, and thns delivers himself : 


214 


A DETECTIVE PODICE PARTY. 


“ It wasn’t a bad plant that of mine, on Fikey, the man ac- 
cused of forging the Sou’ Western Railway debentures — it was 
only t’ other day — because the reason why ? I ’ll tell you. 

“ I had information that Fikey and his brother kept a factory 
over yonder there,” indicating any region on the Surrey side of 
the river, ‘‘ where he bought second-hand carriages ; so after I ’d 
tried in vain to get hold of him by other means, I wrote him a 
letter in an assumed name, saying that I ’d got a horse and shay 
to dispose of, and would drive down next day, that he might vie *v 
the lot, and make an offer — very reasonable it was, I said — a 
reg’lar bargain. Straw and me then went off to a friend of mine 
that’s in the livery and job business, and hired a turn-out for the 
day, a precious smart turn-out, it was — quite a slap-up thing ! 
Down we drove, accordingly, with a friend (who ’s not in the 
Force himself) ; and leaving my friend in the shay near a 
public-house, to take care of the horse, we went to the factory, 
which was some little way off. In the factory, there was a 
number of strong fellows at work, and after reckoning ’em up, 
it was clear to me that it wouldn’t do to try it on there. They 
were too many for us. We must get our man out of doors 
‘ Mr. Fikey at home ‘ No, he ain’t.’ ‘ Expected home 
soon .^’ ‘Why, no, not soon.’ ‘Ah! is his brother here .^’ 
‘Z’m his brother.’ ‘ Oh ! well, this is an ill-con wenience, this 
is. I wrote him a letter yesterday, saying I ’d got a little turn- 
out to dispose of, and I ’ve took the trouble to bring the turn- 
out down, a’ purpose, and now he ain’t in the way.’ ‘ No, he 
an’t in the way. You couldn’t make it convenient to call again, 
could you P ‘ Why, no, I couldn’t. I want to sell ; that’s 
the fact ; and I can’t put it off. Could you find him any- 
.Yheres At first he said no, he couldn’t, and then he wasn’t 
lure about it, and then he ’d go and try. So, at last he went 


A Detective police party. 


215 


up-stairs, where there was a sort of loft, and presently down 
comes my man himself, in his shirt-sleeves. 

“ ‘ Well,’ he says, ‘ this seems to be raythcr a pressing matter 
of yours.’ ‘ Yes,’ I says, ‘ it is rayther a pressing matter, and 
you ’ll find it a bargain — dirt-cheap.’ ‘ I ain’t in partickler 
want of a bargain just now,’ he says, ‘ but where is it P ‘ Why,’ 
I says, ‘the turn-out ’s just outside. Come and look at it.’ 
He hasn’t any suspicions, and away we go. And the first thing 
that happens is, that the horse runs away with my friend (who 
knows no more of driving than a child) when he takes a little 
trot along the road to show his paces. You never saw such a 
game in your life ! 

“ When the bolt is over, and the turn-out has come to a 
stand-still again, Fikey walks round and round it, as grave as a 
judge — me too. ‘ There, Sir !’ I says. ‘ There’s a neat thing !’ 
‘ It an’t a bad style of thing,’ he says. ‘ I believe you,’ says I. 
‘ And there’s a horse !’ — for I saw him looking at it. ‘ Rising 
eight !’ I says, rubbing his fore-legs. (Bless you, there an’t a 
man in the world knows less of horses than I do, but I ’d heard 
my friend at the Livery Stables say he was eight years old, so T 
says, as knowing as possible, ‘ Rising Eight.’) ‘ Rising eight, 
is he.?’ says he. ‘Rising eight,’ says I. ‘Well,’ he says, 
‘ what do you want for it .?’ ‘ Why, the first and last figure for 

the whole concern is five-and-twenty pound !’ ‘ That ’s very 

cheap !’ he says, looking at me. ‘An’t it.?’ I says. ‘ I told 
you it was a bargain ! Now, without any higgling and haggling 
about it, what I want is to sell, and that ’s my price. Further, 
I ’ll make it easy to you, and take half the money down, and 
you can do a bit of stiff* for the balance.’ ‘ Well,’ he says 


* Give a bill. 


216 


A DETECTIVE I’OLICE PARTY. 


ag9.in, ‘ that ’s very cheap.’ ^ I believe you,’ says I ; ‘ get iu 
and try it, and you ’ll buy it. Gome ! take a trial !’ 

“ Ecod, he gets in, and we get in, and we drive along the; 
road, to show him to one of the railway clerks that was hid in 
the public-house window to identify him. But the clerk was 
bothered, and didn’t know whether it was him, or wasn’t — be- 
cause the reason why ? I ’ll tell you, — on account of his having 
shaved his whiskers. ‘ It ’s a clever little horse,’ he says, ‘ and 
trots well ; and the shay runs light.’ ‘ Not a doubt about it,’ I 
says ‘ And now, Mr. Fikey, I may as well make it all right, 
without wasting any more of your time. The fact is, I ’m In- 
spector TV ield, and you ’re my prisoner.’ ‘ You don’t mean 
that he. says. ‘ I do, indeed.’ ‘ Then burn my body,’ says 
Fikey, ‘ if this ain’t too bad !’ 

“ Perhaps you never saw a man so knocked over with sur- 
prise. ‘ I hope you ’ll let me have my coat V he says. ‘ By 
all means ’ ‘ Well, then, let ’s drive to the factory.’ ‘ Why, 

not exactly that, I think,’ said I ; ‘ I ’ve been there, once be- 
fore, to-day. Suppose we send for it.’ He saw it was no go 
so he sent for it, and put it on, and we drove him up to London, 
comfortable.” 

This reminiscence is in the height of its success, when a gen- 
eral proposal is made to the fresh-complexioned, smooth-faced 
officer, with the strange air of simplicity, to tell the “ Butcher’s 
story.” 


A DETECTIVE POLICE PARTT. 


217 


BUTCHER’S STORY. 

The fresh-complexioned, smooth-faced ofl&cer, with the stiange 
air of simplicity, began, with a rustic smile, and in a soft, 
wheedling tone of voice, to relate the Butcher’s Story, thus : — 
“ It’s just about six years ago, now, since information was 
given at Scotland Yard of there being extensive robberies of 
lawns and silks going on, at some wholesale houses in the City. 
Directions were given for the business being looked into ; and 
Straw, and Fendall, and me, we were all in it.” 

‘‘ When you received your instructions,” said we, “ you went 
away, and held a sort of Cabinet Council together .^” 

The smooth-faced officer coaxingly replied, “ Ye-es. Just so. 
We turned it over among ourselves a good deal. It appeared, 
when we went into it, that the goods were sold by the receivers 
extraordinarily cheap — much cheaper than they could have been 
if they had been honestly come by. The receivers were in the 
trade, and kept capital shops — establishments of the first respec- 
tability — one of ’em at the West End, one down in Westmin- 
ster. After a lot of watching and inquiry, and this and that 
among ourselves, we found that the job was managed, and the 
purchases of the stolen goods made, at a little public-house near 
Smithfield, down by Saint Bartholomew’s ; where the Ware- 
house Porters, who were the thieves, took ’em for that purpose, 
lon’t you see f and made appointments to meet the people that 
went between themselves and the receivers. This public-house 
was principally used by journeymen butchers from the country, 
out of place, and in want of situations ; so, what did we do, but 
— ha, ha, ha ! — we agreed that I should be dressed up like a 
butcher myself, and go and live there !” 

Never, surely, was a faculty of observation better brought to 


218 


A DETECTIVE POLICE PARTY. 


bear upon a purpose, than that which picked oit this officer for 
the part. Nothing in all creation, could have suited him better. 
Even while he spoke, he became a greasy, sleepy, shy, good- 
natured, chuckle-headed, unsuspicious, and confiding young 
butcher. His very hair seemed to have suet in it, as he made 
it smooth upon his head, and his fresh complexion to be lubri- 
cated by large quantities of animal food. 

“ So I — ha, ha, ha !” (always wir'h the confiding snigger 

of the foolish young butcher) “ so I dressed myself in the regu- 
lar way, made up a little bundle of clothes, and went to the 
public-house, and asked if I could have a lodging there r They 
says, ‘ yes, you can have a lodging here,’ and I got a bed-room, 
and settled myself down in the tap. There was a number of 
people about the place, and coming backwards and forwards to 
the house ; and first one says, and then another says, ‘ Are you 
from the country, young man.'’ ‘Yes,’ I says, ‘I am. I’m 
come out of Northamptonshire, and I’m quite lonely here, for I 
don’t know London at all, and it’s such a mighty big town P 
‘It w a big town,’ they says. ‘ Oh, it’s a very big town!’ I 
says. ‘ Really and truly I never was in such a town. It quite 
confuses of me !’ — and all that, you know. 

“ When some of the Journeyman Butchers that used the 
house, found that I wanted a place, they says, ‘ Oh, we’ll get 
you a place ” And they actually took me to a sight of places, 
in Newgate Market, Newport Market, Clare, Carnaby — I don’t 
know where all. But the wages was -ha, ha, ha I — was not 
sufficient, and I never could suit myself, don’t you see } Some 
of the queer frequenters of the house, were a little suspicious of 
me at first, and I was obliged to be very cautious indeed, how I 
communicated with Straw or Fendall. Sometimes, when I went 
out, pretending to st3p and look into the shop-windows, and 


A DETECTIVE POLICE PARTY. 


^19 


just casting my eye round, T used to see some of ’em following 
me ; but, being perhaps better accustomed than they thought 
for, to that sort of thing, I used to lead ’em on as far as I 
thought necessary or convenient — sometimes a long way — and 
then turn sharp round, and meet ’em, and say, ‘ Oh, dear, how 
glad I am to come upon you so fortunate ! This London’s such 
place, I’m blowed if I an’t lost again !’ x\nd then we’d go 
back all together, to the public-house, and — ha, ha, ha ! and 
smoke our pipes, don’t you see 

“ They were very attentive to me, I am sure. It was a com - 
mon thing, while I was living there, for some of ’em to take me 
out, and show me London. They showed me the Prisons — 
showed me Newgate — and when they showed me Newgate, I 
stops at the place where the Porters pitch their loads, and says, 
‘Oh dear,’ ‘is this where they hang the men! Oh Lor!’ 
‘ That !’ they says, ‘ what a simple cove he is ! That an’t it !’ 
And then they pointed out which was it, and I says, ‘ Lor !’ and 
they says, ‘ Now you’ll know it agen, won’t you P And I said 
I thought I should if I tried hard — and I assure you I kept a 
sharp look out for the City Police when we were out in this 
way, for if any of ’em had happv ned to know me, and had spoke 
to me, it would have been all up in a minute. However, by 
good luck such a thing never happened, and all went on quiet : 
though the diflGlculties I had in communicating with my brother 
officers were quite extraordinary. 

“ The stolen goods that were brought to the public-house, by 
he Warehouse Porters, were always disposed of in a back par- 
or. For a long time, I never could get into this parlor, or see 
what was done there. As I sat smoking my pipe, like an inno- 
cent young chap, by the tap-room fire, I’d hear some of the 
parties to the robbery, as they came in and out, say softly to the 


220 


A DETECTIVE POLICE PARTY. 


landlord, ‘ Who’s that ? What does he, do hei-^ ?’ ‘ Bless youf 

soul,’ says the landlord, ‘ He’s only a’ — ha, ha, ha ! — ‘ he’s 
only a green young fellow from the country, as is looking for a 
butcher’s sitiwation. Don’t mind himV So, in course of time, 
they were so convinced of my being green, and got to be so 
accustomed to me, that I was as free of the parlor as any of 
’em, and I have seen as much as Seventy Pounds worth of fine 
lawn sold there, in one night, that was stolen from a warehouse 
in Friday Street. After the sale, the buyers always stood treat 
— hot supper, or dinner, or what not — and they’d say on those 
occasions ‘ Come on, Butchei ! Put your best leg foremost, 
young ’un, and walk into it !’ Which I used to do — and hear, 
at table, all manner of particulars that it was very important for 
us Detectives to know. 

“ This went on for ten weeks. I lived in the public-house all 
the time, and never was out of the Butcher’s dress — except in 
bed. At last, when I had followed seven of the thieves, and set 
’em to rights — that’s an expression of ours, don’t you see, by 
which I mean to say that I traced ’em, and found out where the 
robberies were done, and all about ’em — Straw, and Fendall, 
and I, gave one another the office, and at a time agreed upon, 
a descent was made upon the public-house, and the apprehen- 
sions effected. One of the first things the officers did, was to 
collar me—for the parties to the robbery weren’t to suppose 
yet, that I was anything but a Butcher — on which the landlord 
cries out, ‘ Don’t take Am,’ he says, ‘ whatever you do ! He’s 
only a poor young chap from the country, and butter wouldn’t 
melt in his mouth !’ However, they — ha, ha, ha ! — they took 
me, and pretended to search my bedroom, where nothing was 
found but an old fiddle belonging to the landlord, that had got 
there somehow or another. But, it entirely changed the land- 


A DETECTIVE POLICE PARTY. 


221 


lord’s opinion, for when it was produced, he says, ‘ My fiddle ' 
The Butcher’s a pur-loiner ! I give him into custody for the 
robbery of a musicax instrument !’ 

The man that had stolen the goods in Friday Street was 
not taken yet. He had told me, in confidence, that he had his 
suspicions there was something wrong (on account of the City 
Police having captured one of the party), and that he was going 
to make himself scarce. I asked him, ‘ Where do you mean to 
go, Mr. Shepherdson .?’ ‘ Why, Butcher,’ says he, ‘ the Setting 
Moon, in the Commercial Road, is a snug house, and I shall 
hang out there for a time. I shall call myself Simpson, which 
appears to me to be a modest sort of a name. Perhaps you ’ll 
give us a look in, Butcher .?’ ‘ Well,’ says I, ‘ I think I will 

give you a call ’ — which I fully intended, don’t you see, because, 
of course^ he was to be taken ! I went over to the Setting 
Moon next day, with a' brother ofl&cer, and asked at the bar for 
Simpson. They pointed out his room up stairs. As we were 
going up, he looks down over the banisters, and calls out, ‘ Hal- 
loa, Butcher ! is that you ‘ Yes, it’s me.’ ‘ How do you find 
yourself V ‘ Bobbish,’ he says ; ‘ but who’s that with you ‘ It’s 
only a young man, that’s a friend of mine,’ I says. ‘ Come 
along, then,’ says he ; ' any friend of the Butcher’s is as wel- 
come as the Butcher !' So, I made my friend acquainted with 
him, and we took him into custody. 

“ You have no idea. Sir, what a sight it was, in Court, when 
they first knew that I wasn’t a Butcher, after all ! I wasn’t 
produced at the first examination, when there was a remand ; 
but I was at the second. And when .1 stepped into the box, in 
full police uniform, and the whole party saw how they had been 
done, actually a groan of horror and dismay proceeded from ’em 
in the dock ! 


222 


A detective poi. ice par tv. 


At the Old Bailey, when their trials came on, Mr. OlarksoD 
was engaged for the defence, and he couldnH make out how it 
was, about the Butcher, lie thought, all along, it was a real 
Butcher. When the counsel for the prosecution said, ‘ I will 
now call before you, gentlemen, the Police-officer,’ meaning 
myself, Mr. Clarkson says, ‘ Why Police-officer ? Why more 
Police-officers r I dont’t want Police. We have had a great 
deal too much of the Police. I want the Butcher ! However, 
Sir, he had the Butcher and the Police-officer, both in one. 
Out of seven prisoners committed for trial, five were found 
guilty, and some of ’em were transported. The respectable firm 
at the West End got a term of imprisonment; and that’s the 
Butchei’s Story!” 

The story done, the chuckle-headed Butcher again resolved 
himself into the smooth-faced Detective. But, he was so ex- 
tremely tickled by their having taken him about, when he was 
that Dragon in disguise, to show him London, that he could not 
help reverting to that point in his narrative ; and gently repeat- 
ing, with the Butcher’s snigger, “ ‘ Oh, dear!’ I says, ‘ is that 
where they hang the men Oh, Lor!’ ‘ That says they 
• What a simple cove he is !’ ” 

It being now late, and the party very modest in their fear of 
being too diffuse, there were some tokens of separation ; when 
Serjeant Dornton, the soldierly-looking man, said, looking round 
him with a smile : 

“ Before we break up. Sir, perhaps you might have some 
nmusernent in hearing of the Adventures of a Carpet Bag. 
They are very short ; and, I think, curious.” 

We welcomed the Carpet Bag, as cordially as Mr Shepherd- 
on welcomed the false Butcher at the Setting Moon. SerieanI 
Dornton proceeded: 


A DETECTIVE POLICE PARTY. 


22li 


“In 1847, I was dispatched to Chatham, in search of one 
Mesheck, a Jew. He had been carrying on, pretty heavily, in 
the bill-stealing way, getting acceptances from young men of 
good connexions (in the army chiefly), on pretence of discount, 
and bolting with the same. 

“ Mesheck was off, befort I got to Chatham. All I could 
learn about him was, that he had gone, probably to London, and 
had with him — a Carpet Bag. 

“ I came back to town, by the last train from Blackwall, and 
made inquiries concerning a Jew passenger with — a Carpet 
Bag. 

“The office was shut up, it being the last train. There were 
only two or three porters left. Looking after a Jew with a 
Carpet Bag, on the Blackwall Bailway, which was then the 
high road to a great Military Depot, was worse than looking 
after a needle in a hay-rick. But it happened that one of these 
porters had carried, for a certain Jew, to a certain public-house, 
a certain — Carpet Bag. 

“I went to the public-house, but the Jew had only left his 
luggage there for a few hours, and had called for it in a cab, 
and taken it away. I put such questions there, and to the por- 
ter, as I thought prudent, and got at this description of — the 
Carpet Bag. 

“ It was a bag which had, ^n one side of it, worked in 
worsted, a green parrot on a stand. A green parrot on a stand 
was the means by which to identify that — Carpet Bag. 

“ I traced Mesheck, by means of this green parrot on a stand 
to Cheltenham, to Birmingham, to Liverpool, to the Atlantic 
Ocean At Liverpool he was too many for me. He had gone 
to the United States, and I gave up all thoughts of Mesheck, 
and likewj.se of his — Carpet Bag. 


224 


A DE7ECTIVE POLICE PARTY. 


‘‘ Many months afterwards — near a year afterwards — there 
was a Bank in Ireland robbed of seven thousand pounds, by a 
person of the name of Doctor Dundey, who escaped to America j 
from which country some of the stolen notes came home. He 
was supposed to have bought a farm in New Jersey. Under 
proper management, that estate could be seized and sold, for 
the benefit of the parties he had defrauded. I was sent off to 
America for this purpose. 

“ I landed at Boston. I went on to Nev York. I found 
that he had lately changed New York paper-money for New 
Jersey paper-money, and had banked cash in New Brunswick. 
To take this Doctor Dundey, it was necessary to entrap him 
into the State of New York, which required a deal of artifice 
and trouble. At one time, he couldn’t be drawn into an appoint- 
ment. At another time, he appointed to come to meet me, and 
a New York ofiicer, on a pretext I made ; and then his children 
had the measles. At last, he came, per steamboat, and I took 
him, and lodged him in a New York Prison called the Tombs ; 
which I dare say you know. Sir 

Editorial acknowledgment to that effect 

‘‘ I went to the Tombs, on the morning after his capture, 
to attend the examination before the magistrate I was passing 
through the magistrate’s private room, when, happening to look 
round me to take notice of the place, as we generally have a 
habit of doing, I clapped my eyes, in one corner, on a — Carpet 
Bag. 

“ What did I see upon that Carpet Bag, if you’ll believe me, 
but a gre )n parrot on a stand, as large as life ! 

“ That Carpet Bag, with the representation of a green par- 
rot on a stand,’ said I, ‘belongs to an English Jew, named 
Aaron Mesheck, and to no other inai alive or dead !’ 


A DETECTIVE POLICE PARTY 




“ I give you my word the New York Police officers were 
doubled up with surprise. 

‘‘ ‘ How do you ever come to know that said they. 

“ ‘ I think I ought to know that green parrot by this time,’ 
said I, ‘ for I have had as pretty a dance after that bird, at 
home, as ever I had, in all my life !’ ” 

“ And was it Mesheck’s we submissively inquired. 

“ Was it. Sir.? Of course it was ! He was in custody for 
another offence, in that very identical Tombs, at that very 
identical time. And, more than that ! Some memoranda, relat- 
ing to the fraud for which I had vainly endeavored to take him, 
were found to be, at thut moment, lying in that very same 
individual — Carpet Bag !” 

Such are the curious coincidences and such is the peculiar 
ability, always sharpening and being improved by practice, and 
always adapting itself to every variety of circumstances, and 
opposing itself to every new device that perverted ingenuity can 
invent, for which this important social branch of the public 
service is remarkable ! For ever on the watch, with their wits 
stretched to the utmost, these officers have, from day to day and 
year to year, to set themselves against every novelty of trickery 
and dexterity that the combined imaginations of all the lawless 
rascals in England can devise, and to keep pace with every such 
invention that comes out. In the Courts of Justice, the mate- 
rials of thousands of such stories as we have narrated — often 
elevated into the marvellous and romantic, by the circumstances 
of the case — are dryly compressed into the set phrase, “ in con- 
sequence of information I received, I did so and so.” Suspicion 
was to be directed, by careful inference and deduction, upon 
the right person ; the right person was to be taken, wherever 
he had gone, or whatever he was doing to avoid detection : he 
15 


226 


A DETECTIVE POLICE PARTY. 


is taken ; there he is at the bar ; that is enough. From infor- 
mation I, the officer, received, I did it ; and, according to the 
custom in these cases, I say no more. 

These games of chess, played with live pieces, are played 
before small audiences, and are chronicled nowhere. The 
interest of the game supports the player. Its results are 
enough for Justice. To compare great things with small, 
suppose Leverrier or Adams informing the public that from 
information he had received he had discovered a new planet ; 
or Columbus informing the public of his day that from infor- 
mation he had received, he had discovered a new continent ; 
so the Detectives inform it that they have discovered a new 
fraud or an old offender, and the process is unknown. 

Thus, at midnight, closed the proceedings of our curious and 
•nteresting party. But one other circumstance finally wound up 
the evening, after our Detective guests had left us. One of the 
sharpest among them, and the officer best acquainted with th? 
Swell Mob, had his pocket picked, going home ’ 


XIH. 


THREE “DETECTIVE” ANECDOTES. 

THE PAIR OF GLOVES. 

“ It’s a singular story. Sir,” said Inspector Wield, of the 
Detective Police, who, in company with Sergeants Dornton and 
Mith, paid us another twilight visit, one July evening ; “ and 
I’ve been thinking you might like to know it. 

“ It’s concerning the murder of the young woman, Eliza 
Grrimwood, some years ago, over in the Waterloo Koad. She 
was commonly called The Countess, because of her handsome 
appearance, and her proud way of carrying of herself ; and 
when I saw the poor Countess (I had known her well to speak 
to), lying dead, with her throat cut, on the floor of her bed- 
room, you’ll believe me that a variety of reflections calculated 
to make a man rather low in his spirits, came into my head. 

“ That’s neither here nor there. I went to the house the 
morning after the murder, and examined the body, and made a 
general observation of the bedroom where it was. Turning 
down the pillow of the bed with my hand, I found, underneath 
it, a pair of gloves. A pair of gentleman’s dress gloves, very 
dirty ; and inside the lining, the letters Tr, and a cross. 

“ Well, Sir, I took them gloves away, and I showed ’em t<? 
the magistrate, over at Union Hall, before whom the case was. 
He says, ‘ Wield,’ he says, ‘ there’s no doubt this is a discovery 
that may lead to something very important ; and what you have 
got to do. Wield, is, to And out the owner of these gloves.’ 


228 THREE “ detective'’ ANECDOTES. 


“ I was of the same opinion, of course, and I went at it im- 
mediately. I looked at the gloves pretty narrowly, and it was 
my opinion that they had been cleaned. There was a smell of 
sulphur and rosin about ’em, you know, which cleaned gloves 
usually have, more or less. I took ’em over to a friend of mine 
at Kennington, who was in that line, and I put it to him. 
‘ What do you say now ? Have these gloves been cleaned .^’ 
• These gloves have been cleaned,’ says he. ‘ Have you any 
idea who cleaned them .^’ says I. ‘ Not at all,’ says ho ; ‘ I’ve 
a very distinct idea who didnH clean ’em, and that’s myself. 
But I’ll tell you what, Wield, there ain’t above eight or nine 
reg’lar glove cleaners in London,’ — there were not, at that 
^i^ne, it seems — ‘ and I think I can give you their addresses, 
and you may find out, by that means, who did clean ’em.’ 
Accordingly, he gave me the directions, and I went here, and I 
went there, and I looked up this man, and I looked up that 
man ; but, though they all agreed that the gloves had been 
cleaned, I couldn’t find the man, woman, or child, that had 
cleaned that aforesaid pair of gloves. 

“ What with this person not being at home, and that person 
being expected home in the afternoon, and so forth, the inquiry 
took me three days. On the evening of the third day, coming 
over Waterloo Bridge from the Surrey side of the river, quite 
beat, and very much vexed and disappointed, I thought I’d 
have a shilling’s worth of entertainment at the Lyceum Theatre 
to freshen myself up. So I went into the Pit, at half-price, 
and I sat myself down next to a very quiet, modest sort of 
young man. Seeing I was a stranger (which I thought it just 
as well to appear to be) he told me the names of the actors on 
the stagej and we got into conversation. AVhen the play was 
over, we came out together, and I said, ‘ We’ve been very com- 


THREE “ TETECTIVE” _ NECDOTES. 


229 


panionable and agreeable, and perhaps yon wouldn’t object to a 
drain ?’ ‘ Well, you’re very good,’ says lie ; ‘I shouldn^i 

object to a drain.’ Accordingly*, we went to a public house, 
near the Theatre, sat ourselves down in a quiet room up stairs on 
the first floor, and called for a pint of half-and-half, a-piece, 
and a pipe. 

“ Well, Sir, we put our pipes aboard, and we drank our half- 
and-half, and sat a talking, very sociably, when the young man 
says, ‘ You must excuse me stopping very long,’ he says, ‘ be- 
cause I’m forced to go home in good time. I must be at work 
all night.’ ‘ At work all night V says I. ‘You ain’t a Baker V 
‘ No,’ he says, laughing, ‘ I ain’t a baker.’ ‘ I thought not,’ 
says I, ‘you haven’t the looks of a baker.’ ‘No,’ says he, 
‘ I’m a glove cleaner.’ 

“ I never was more astonished in my life, than when I heard 
them words come out of his lips. ‘ You’re a glote cleaner, are 
you V says I. ‘ Yes,’ he says, ‘ I am.’ ‘ Then, perhaps,’ 
says I, taking the gloves out of my pocket, ‘ you can tell me 
who cleaned this pair of gloves } It’s a rum story,’ I says. ‘ I 
was dining over at Lambeth, the other day, at a free-and-easy — 
quite promiscuous — with a public company — when some gentle- 
man, he left these gloves behind him ! Another gentleman and 
me, you see, we laid a wager of a sovereign, that I wouldn’t find 
out who they belonged to. I’ve spent as much as seven shil- 
lings already, in trying to discover ; but, if you could help me, 
I’d stand another seven and welcome. You see there’s Tr and 
a cross, in«;ide.’ ‘ I see,’ he says. ‘ Bless you, I know these 
gloves very well ! I’ve seen dozens of pairs belonging to the 
same party.’ ‘ No .?’ says I. ‘Yes,’ says he. ‘Then you 
know who cleaned ’en ” says I. ‘ Rather so,’ says he. ^ My 
father cleaned ’em.’ 


230 THREE Dj!.1 ECTIVe'’ ANECDOTES. 

“ ‘ Where does your father live ?’ says I. ‘ Just round the 
corner,’ says the young man, ‘ near Exeter Street, here, lie’ll 
tell you who they belong to, directly.’ ‘ Would you come 
round with me now says I. ‘ Certainly,’ says he, ‘ but you 
needn’t tell my father that you found me at the play, you knew 
because he mightn’t like it.’ ‘ All right !’ We went round !< 
the place, and there we found an old man in a white apioii. 
with two or three daughters, all rubbing and cleaning away <l\ 
lots of gloves, in a front parlor. ‘ Oh, Father !’ says the young 
man, ‘ here’s a person been and made a bet about the ownei- 
ship of a pair of gloves, and I’ve told him you can settle it.' 
‘ Grood evening. Sir,’ says I to the old gentleman. ‘ Here’s the 
gloves your son speaks of. Letters Tr, you see, and a cross.’ 
‘ Oh yes,’ he says, ‘ I know these gloves very well ; I’ve 
cleaned dozens of pairs of ’em. They belong to Mr. Trinkle, 
the great uphnlsterer in Cheapside.’ ‘ Did you get 'em from 
Mr. Trinkle, direct,’ says I, ‘ if you’ll excuse my asking the 
question P ‘ No,’ says he ; ‘ Mr. Trinkle always sends ’em to 
Mr. Phibbs’s, the haberdasher’s opposite his shop, and the 
haberdasher sends ’em to me ’ ‘ Perhaps you, wouldn’t object 

to a drain P says I. ‘ Not in the least !’ says he. So I took 
the old gentleman out, and had a little more talk with him and 
his son, over a glass, and we parted ex-cellcnt friends. 

‘‘ This was late on a Saturday night. First thing on the 
Monday morning, I went to the haberdasher’s shop, opposite 
Mr. Tfinkle’s, the great upholsterer’s in Cheapside. ‘ Mr. 
Phibbs in the way 'P ‘ My name is Phibbs.’ ‘Oh 1 I believe 
you sent this pair of gloves to be cleaned P ‘ Yes, I did, for 
young Mr. Trinkle over the way. There he is, in the shop !’ 
‘ Oh ! that’s him in the shop, is it } Him in the green coat ? 
‘The same individual.’ ‘Well, Mr. Phibbs, thi, is an un- 


THREE “ detective” ANECDOTES 


231 


pleasant affair ; but the fact is, I am Inspector Wield of the 
Detective Police, and I found these gloves under the pillow of 
the young woman that was murdered the other day, over in the 
Waterloo Road ?’ ‘ Grood Heaven !’ says he. ‘ He’s a most 

respectable young man, and if his father was to hear of it, it 
would be the ruin of him !’ ‘I’m very sorry for it,’ says I, 
‘ but I must take him into custody.’ ‘ Good Heaven !’ says 
Mr. Phibbs, again ; ‘ can nothing be done P ‘ Nothing,’ says 
I. ‘ Will you allow me to call him 'over here,’ says he, ‘that 
his father may not see it done P ‘ I don’t object to that,’ says 
I ; ‘ but unfortunately, Mr. Phibbs, I can’t allow of any com- 
munication between you. If any was attempted, I should have to 
interfere directly. Perhaps you’ll beckon him over here Mr 
Phibbs went to the door and beckoned, and the young fellow 
came across the street directly ; a smart, brisk young fellow. 

“ ‘ Good morning. Sir’ says I. ‘ Good morning. Sir,’ says he 
‘ Would you allow me to inquire. Sir,’ says I, ‘ if you ever had 
any acquaintance with a party of the name of Grim wood P 
‘ Grim wood ! Grimwood !’ says he, ‘ No !’ ‘You know the 
Waterloo Road P ^ Oh ! of course I know the Waterloo 
Road !’ ‘ Happen to have heard of a young woman being mur- 

dered there P ‘Yes, I read it in the paper, and very sorry I 
was to read it.’ ‘ Here’s a pair of gloves belonging to you, that 
I found under her pillow the morning afterwards !’ 

‘ He was in a dreadful state. Sir ; a dreadful state !’ ‘ Mr. 

Wield,’ he says, ‘ upon my solemn oath I never was there I 
never so much as saw her, to my knowledge, in my life !’ ‘I 
am very sorry,’ says I. ‘ To tell you the truth ; I don’t think 
you a7'e the murderer, but I must take you to Union Hall in a 
cab. However, I think it’s a case of that sort, that, at present 
at all events, the magistrate will hear it in private.’ 


232 THREE “ detective” ANECDOTES. 


A private examination took place, and then it came out that 
this young man was acquainted with a cousin of the unfortunate 
Eliza Grimwoods, and that, calling to see this cousin a day or 
two before the murder, he left these 'gloves upon the table. 
Who should come in, shortly afterwards, but Eliza Grimwood ! 
‘ Whose gloves are these she says, taking ’em up. ‘ Those 
are Mr. Trinkle’s gloves,’ says her cousin. ‘ Oh !’ says she, 
‘ they are very dirty, and of no use to him, I am sure. I shall 
take ’em away for my girl to clean the stoves with.’ And she 
put ’em in her pocket. The girl had used ’em to clean the 
stoves, and, I have no doubt, had left ’em lying on the bedroom 
mantel-piece, or on the drawers, or somewhere ; and her mis- 
tress, looking round to see that the room was tidy, had caught 
’em up and put ’em under the pillow where I found ’em. 

“ That’s the story. Sir. 

THE ARTFUL TOUCH. 

‘‘ One of the most beautiful things that ever was done, per 
Haps,” said Inspector Wield, emphasising the adjective, as 
oreparing us to expect dexterity or ingenuity rather than strong 
interest, “ was a move of Serjeant Wi^hem’s. It was a lovely 
idea ! 

“ Witchem and me were down at Epsom one Derby Day, 
waiting at the station for the Swell Mob. As I mentioned, 
when we were talking about these things before, we are ready 
at the station when there’s races, or an Agricultural Show, or a 
Chancellor sworn in for an university, or Jenny Lind, or any 
thing of that sort ; and as the Swell Mob come down, we send 
’em back again by the next train. But some ol* the Swell Mob, 
on the occasion of this Derby that I refer to, so far kiddied us 


I'HREE “ detective” ANECDOTES. 

as to hire a horse and shay ; start away from London by White- 
chapel, and miles round ; come into Epsom from the opposite 
direction ; and go to work, right and left, on the course, while 
we were waiting for ’em at the Rail. That, however, ain’t the 
point of whnt T’m going to tell you. 

“ While Witchem and were waiting at the station, there 
comes up one Mr. Tatt ; a gentleman formerly in the public 
line, quite an amateur Detective in his way, and very much re- 
spected. ‘ Halloa, Charley Wield,’ he says. ‘ What are you 
doing here .' On the look out for some of your old friends P 
‘ Yes, the old move, Mr. Tatt.’ ‘ Come along,’ he says, ‘ you 
and Witchem, and have a glass of sherry.’ ‘ We can’t stir 
from the place,’ says I, ‘ till the next train comes in ; but after 
that, we will with pleasure.’ Mr. Tatt waits, and the train 
iomes in, and then Witchem and me go olF with him to the 
Hotel. Mr. Tatt he’s got up quite regardless of expense, for 
the occasion ; and in his shirt-front there’s a beautiful diamond 
prop, cost him fifteen or twenty pound — a very handsome pin 
indeed. We drink our sherry at the bar, and have had our 
three or four glasses, when Witchem cries, suddenly, ‘ Look 
out, Mr. Wield ! stand fast !’ and a dash is made into the place 
by the swell mob — four of ’em — that have come down as I tell 
you, and in a moment Mr. Tatt’s prop is gone ! Witchem, he 
cuts ’em off at the door, I lay about me as hard as I can, Mr. 
Tatt shows fight like a good ’un, and there we are, all down 
together, heads and heels, knocking about on the floor of the 
bar — perhaps you never see such a scene of confusion ' How- 
ever, we stick to our men (Mr. Tatt being as good as any ofii- 
cer), and we take ’em all, and cari-y ’em off to the station 
The station ’s full of people, who have been took on the course ; 
and it’s a precious piece, of work to get ’em secured. However, 


234 THREE “ detective’’ anecdotes. 

we do it at last, and wc scarcli ’em ; but nothing’s found upor 
’em, and they’re locked up ; and a pretty state of heat we are 
m by that time, I assure you ! 

‘‘ I was very blank over it, myself, to think that the prop had 
been passed away ; an l I said to Witchem, when we had set ’em 
to rights, and were cooling ourselves along with Mr. Tatt, ‘ we 
don’t take much by this move, any way, for nothing’s found upon 
’em, and it’s only the braggadocia* after all.’ ‘ What do you 
mean, Mr. Wield ?’ says Witchem. ‘ Here’s the diamond 
pin !’ and in the palm of his hand there it was, safe and sound ! 
‘ Why, in the name of wonder,’ says me and Mr. Tatt, in 
astonishment, ‘ how did you come by that ‘ I’ll tell you how 
I come by it,’ says he. ^ I saw which of ’em took it ; and 
when we were all down on the floor together, knocking about, I 
just gave him a little touch on the back of his hand, as I knew 
his pal would ; and he thought it was his pal ; and gave it me !’ 
It was beautiful, beau-ti-ful ! 

“ Even that was hardly the best of the case, for that chap 
was tried at the Quarter Sessions at Guildford. You know 
what Quarter Sessions are, Sir. Well, if you’ll believe me, 
while them slow justices were looking over the Acts of Parlia- 
ment, to see what they could do to him, I’m blowed if he didn’t 
cut out of the dock before their faces ! He cut out of the dock. 
Sir, then and there ; swam across a river ; and got up into a 
tree to dry himself. In the tree he was took — an old woman 
having seen him climb up — and Witchem’s artful touch trans- 
ported him ! 


♦ Three months’ imprisonment as reputed thieves 


235 


THREE “ detective” ANECDOTES. 


THE SOFA. 

“ What young moL will do, sometimes, to ruin themselves 
and break their friends’ hearts,” said Serjeant Dornton, “ it ’s 
surprising ! I had a case at Saint Blank’s Hospital which was 
of this sort. A bad case, indeed, with a bad end ! 

“ The Secretary, and the House-Surgeon, and the Treasurer, 
of Saint Blank’s Hospital, came to Scotland Yard to give infor- 
mation of numerous robberies having been committed on the 
students. The students could leave nothing in the pockets of 
their great-coats, while the great-coats were hanging at the 
Hospital, but it was almost certain to be stolen. Property of 
various descriptions was constantly being lost ; and the gentle- 
men were naturally uneasy about it, and anxious, for the credit 
of the Institution, that the thief or thieves should be discovered. 
The case was entrusted to me, and I went to the Hospital. 

‘ Now, gentlemen,’ said I, after we had talked it over, ‘ I 
understand this property is usually lost from one room.’ 

‘‘ Yes, they said. It was. 

“ ‘ I should wish, if you please,’ said I, ‘ to see that room.' 

“ It was a good-sized bare-room down stairs, with a few tables 
and forms in it, and a row of pegs, all round, for hats and coats. 

‘‘ ‘ Next, gentlemen,’ said I, ‘ do you suspect anybody P 

“ Yes, they said. They did suspect somebody. They were 
sorry to say, they suspected one of the porters. 

“ ‘ I should like,’ said I, ‘ to have that man pointed out to 
me, and to have a little time to look after him.’ 

“ He was pointed out, and I looked after him, and then I 
went back to the Hospital, and said, ‘ Now, gentlemen, it ’s not 
the porter. He ’s, unfortunately for himself, a little too fond 


235 THREE “ detective” ANECDOTES. 

of drjnli , he’s nothing worse. My suspicion is, that these 
robberies are t ommitted by one of the students ; and if you ’ll 
put me a sofu i.i^o that room where the pegs are — as there ’s no 
closet — I think I shall be able to detect the thief. I wish the 
sofa, if you ploai. to be covered with chintz, or something of 
that sort, so that V .nay lie on my chest, underneath it, without 
being seen.’ 

“ The sofa was provided, and ’^ext day at eleven o’clock, 
before any of the rtuaents came, I went there, with those gen- 
tlemen, to get underneath it. It turned out to be one of those 
old-fashioned sofas witn a great cross beam at the bottom, that 
would have broken my lack in no time if I could ever have got 
below it. We had qu.He a job to break all this away in the time ; 
however, I fell to woiV, and they fell to work, and we broke it 
out, and made a clear plice for me. I got under the sofa, lay 
down on my chest, took out my knife, and made a convenient 
hole in the chintz to look through. It was then settled between 
me and the gentlemen tii^^t when the students were all up in the 
wards, one of the gentl -men should come in, and hang up a 
great-coat on one of the pegs. And that that great-coat should 
have, in one of the po' kets, a pocket-book containing marked 
money. 

“ After I had beei there some time, the students began to 
drop into the room, b} ones, and twos, and threes, and to talk 
about all sorts of things, little thipking there was anybody under 
the sofa — and then to go up stairs. At last there came in one 
who remained until he was alone in the room by himself. A 
tallish, good-looking young man of one or two and twenty, with 
a light whisker. He went to a particular hat-peg, took off a 
good hat that was hanging there, tried it on, hung his own hat 
in its place, and hung that hat on another peg, nearly opposite 


THREE “ detective’^ ANECDOTES. 


237 


fco me. 1 then felt quite certain that he was the thief, and 
would come back hj-and-bje. 

“ When they were all up stairs, the gentleman came in with 
the great-coat. I showed him where to hang it, so that I might 
have a good view of it ; and he went away ; and I lay under the 
sofa on my chest, for a couple of hours or so, waiting. 

“ At last, the same young man came down. He walked 
across the room, whistling — stopped'and listened — took another 
walk and whistled — stopped again, and listened — then began to 
go regularly round the pegs, feeling in the pockets of all the 
coats. When he came to the great-coat, and felt the pocket- 
book, he was so eager and so hurried that he broke the strap in 
tearing it open. As he began to put the money in his pocket, I 
crawled out from under the sofa, and his eyes met mine. 

“ My face, as you may perceive, is brown now, but it was 
pale at that time, my health not being good ; and looked as 
long as a horse’s. Besides which, there was a great draught of 
air from the door, underneath the sofa, and I had tied a hand- 
kerchief round my head ; so what I looked like, altogether, I 
don’t know. Ho turned blue — ^literally blue — when he saw me 
crawling out, and I couldn’t feel surprised at it. 

“ ‘ I am an officer of the Detective Police,’ said I, ‘ and have 
been lying here, since you first came in this morning. I regret, 
for the sake of yourself and your friends, that you should have 
done what you have ; but this case is complete. You have the 
pocket-book in your hand and the money upon you ; and T must 
take you into custody ! ’ 

It was impossible to make out any case in his behalf, and 
on his trial he pleaded guilty. How or when he got the means 
I don’t know ; but while he was awaiting his sentence, he 
poisoned himself in Newgate.” 


238 


THREE “ detective” ANECDOTES. 


W e inquired of this officer, on the conclusion of the foregoing 
anecdote, whether the time appeared long, or short, when he lay 
in that constrained position under the sofa ? 

“ ‘ Why, you see. Sir,’ he replied, ‘ if he hadn’t come in, 
the first time, and I had not been quite sure he was the thief, 
and would return, the time would have seemed long. But, as it 
was, I being dend-certain of my man, the '^ime seemed pretty 
hort.’ ” 




THE MARTYRS OF CHANCERY 

In Lambeth Marsh stands a building belter known than honored 
The wealthy merchant knows it as the place where an unfortu- 
nate friend, who made that ruinous speculation during the recent 
sugar-panic, is now a denizen ; the man-about-town knows it as 
a spot to which several of his friends have been driven, at full 
gallop, by fleet race-horses and dear dog-carts ; the lawyer knows 
it as the “ last scene of all,” the catastrophe of a large propor- 
tion of law- suits ; the father knows it as a bug-bear wherewith 
to warn his scapegrace spendthrift son ; but the uncle knows it 
better as the place whence nephews date protestations of reform 
and piteous appeals, “ this once,” for bail. Few, indeed, are 
there who has not heard of the Queen’s Prison, or, as it is more 
briefly and emphatically termed, “ The Bench !” 

Awful sound ! What visions of folly and roguery, of sloth and 
seediness, of ruin and recklessness, are conjured up to the ima- 
gination in these two words ! It is the ‘‘ Hades” of commerce — 
the “ Inferno” of fortune. Within its grim walls — surmounted 
by a chevaux de frise, classically termed “ Lord Ellenborough’e 
teeth” — dwell at this moment members of almost every class 
of society. Debt — the grim incubus riding on the shoulders 
of his victim, like the hideous old man in the Eastern fable — 
has here his captives safely under lock and key, and within fifty- 
feet walls. The church, the army, the navy, the bar, the press, 
the turf, the trade of England, have each and all their representa- 
tives in this “house.” Every grade, from the ruined man of 
fortune, to the petty tradesman who has been undone by giving 


240 


THE MARTYRS OF CHANCERY. 


credit to others still poorer than himself, sends its members to 
this Bankrupts’ Parliament. 

Nineteen-twentieths in this Royal House of Detention owe 
their misfortunes directly or indirectly to themselves ; and, foi 
them, every free and prosperous man has his cut-and-dry moral 
or scrap of pity, or screed of advice ; but there is a proportion 
of prisoners — happily a small one — within those huge brick boun- 
daries, who have committed no crime, broken no law, infringed 
no commandment. They are the victims of a system which has 
been bequeathed to us from the dark days of the “ Star Cham- 
bers” and “ Courts of High Commission” — we mean the Mar- 
tyrs of Chancery. 

These unhappy persons were formerly confined in the Fleet 
Prison, but on the demolition of that edifice, were transferred to 
the Queen’s Bench. Unlike prisoners of any other denomina- 
tion, they are frequently ignorant of the cause of their imprison- 
ment, and more frequently still, are unable to obtain their libe- 
ration by any acts or concessions of their own. There is no act 
of which they are permitted to take the benefit — no door left 
open for them in the Court of Bankruptcy. A Chancery pris- 
oner is, in fact, a far more hopeless mortal than a convict sen- 
tenced to transportation ; for the latter knows that at the expi- 
ration of a certain period, he will, in any event, be a free man. 
The Chancery prisoner has no such certainty ; he may, and he 
frequently does, waste a life-time in the walls of a jail, whither 
he was sent in innocence — because, perchance, he had the ill- 
luck to be one of the next of kin of some testator who made a 
will which no one could comprehend, or the heir of some intes- 
tate who made none. Any other party interested in the estate 
commences a Chancery suit, which he must defend or be com- 
mitted to prison for “ contempt.” A prison is his portion, what- 


THE MARTYRS OP CHANCERY. 


241 


ever he does ; for, if he answers the bill filed against him, and 
cannot pay the costs, he is also clapped in jail for “ contempt.” 
1'hus, what in ordinary life is but an irrepressible expression of 
opinion or a small discourtesy, is, ‘‘ in Equity,” a high crime, 
punishable with imprisonment — sometimes perpetual. Whoever 
is pronounced guilty of contempt in a Chancery sense, is taken 
from his family, his profession, or his trade, (perhaps his sole 
means of livelihood,) and consigned to a jail where he must 
starve, or live on a miserable pittance of three shillings and six- 
pence a week, charitably doled out to him from the county rate. 

Disobedience of an order of the Court of Chancery — though 
that order may command you to pay more money than you ever 
had, or to hand over property which is not yours and was never 
in your possession — ^is eontempt of court. No matter how great 
soever your natural reverence for the time-honored institutions 
of your native land — no matter, though you regard the Lord 
High Chancellor of Grreat Britain as the most wonderful man 
upon earth, and his court as the purest fount of Justice, where 
she sits weighing out justice with a pair of Oertling’s balances, 
you may yet be pronounced to have been guilty of “ contempt.” 
For this there is no pardon. You are in the catalogue .of the 
doomed, and are doomed accordingly. 

A popular fallacy spreads a notion that no one need “go 
into Chancery,” unless he pleases. Nothing but an utter ind 
happy innocence of the bitter irony of “ Equity” proceedings 
keeps such an idea current. Men have been imprisoned for 
many years, some for a life-time, on account of Chancery pro- 
ceedings, of the very existence of which they were almost in 
ignorance before they “ somehow or other were found in con- 
tempt.” 

See yonder slatternly old man in threadbare garments, with 
16 


242 


THE MARTYRS OF CHANCERY. 

£. 

piiiclicd features telling of long years of anxiety and privaiioji 
and want. He has a weak, starved voice, that sounds as 
though years of privation have shrunk it as much as his cheeks. 
He always looks cold, and (Grod help him) feels so too; for 
Liebig tells us that no quantity of clothing will repel cold with- 
out the aid of plenty of food — and little of that passes his lips. 
His eye has an unquiet, timid, half-frightened look, as if he 
could not look you straight in the face for lack of energy. His 
step is a hurried shuffle, though he seldom leaves his room ; 
and when he does, he stares at the racket-players as if they 
were beings of a different race from himself. No one ever 
sees his hands — they are plunged desperately into his pockets, 
which never contain anything else. He is like a dried fruit, 
exhausted, shrunken, and flung aside by the whole world. He 
is a man without hope — a Chancery prisoner ! He has lived 
in a jail for twenty-eight weary years ! His history has many 
parallels. It is this : — 

It was his misfortune to have an uncle, who died leaving 
him his residuary legatee. The uncle, like most men who 
make their own wills, forgot an essential part of it — he named 
no executor. Our poor friend administered, and all parties 
interested received their dues — he, last of all, taking but a 
small sum. It was his only fortune, and having received it he 
looked about for an investment. There were no railways in 
those days, or he might have speculated in the Diddlesex 
Junction. But there were Brazilian Mining Companies, and 
South Sea Fishing Companies, and various other companies, 
comprehensively termed “ Bubble.’’ Our friend thought these 
companies were not safe, and he was quite right in his sup- 
position. So he determined to intrust his money to no bubble 
speculation ; but to invest it in Spanish Bonds. After all, our 


THE MARTTR8 OP CHANCERY 


213 


poor friend had better have tried the Brazilian Mines ; for 
the Bonds proved worth very little more than the paper on 
which they were written. His most Catholic Majesty did not 
repudiate, (like certain transatlantic States,) but buttoned up 
his pockets and told his creditors he had “ no money.” 

Some five years after our friend was startled by being re- 
quested to come up to Doctors’ Commons, and tell the worthy 
Civilians there all about his uncle’s will — which one of the 
legatees, after receiving all he was entitled to under it, and 
probably spending the money — suddenly took it into his head 
to dispute the validity of Meanwhile the Court of Chancery 
also stepped in, and ordered him (pending the ecclesiastical 
suit) to pay over into court “ that little trifle” he had received. 
What could the poor man do ? His Catholic Majesty had 
got the money — he, the legatee, had not a farthing of it, nor 
of any other money whatsoever. He was in contempt ! An 
officer tapped him on the shoulder, displayed a little piece of 
parchment, and he found that he was the victim of an unfor- 
tunate “attachment.” He was walked to the Fleet Prison, 
where, and in the Queen’s Prison, he has remained ever since 
— a period of twenty-eight years ! Yet no less a personage 
than a Lord Chancellor has pronounced his opinion that the 
will, after all, was a good and valid will — though the little 
family party of Doctors’ Commons thought otherwise. 

There is another miserable-looking object yonder — ^greasy, 
dirty, and slovenly. He, too, is a Chancery prisoner. He 
as been so for twenty years. Why, he has not the slightest 
dea. He can only tell you that he was found out to be one 
of the relations of some one who had left “ a good bit of 
money.” The lawyers “put the will into Chancery; and at 
last I was ordered to do something or other, I can’t recollect 


244 


THE MVRTYR8 OP CHANCERY. 


what, which I was also told I couldn’t do nohow if I would 
So they said I was in contempt, and they took and put me into 
the Fleet. It’s a matter of twenty years I have been in prison ; 
of course I’d like to get out, but I’m told there’s no way of 
doing it anyhow.” He is an artisan, and works at his trade 
in the prison, by which he gains just .enough to keep him 
without coming upon the county-rate. 

In that room over the chapel is the infirmary. There was 
a death lately. The deceased was an old man of sixty-eight, 
and nearly blind ; he had not been many years in prison, but 
the confinement, and the anxiety, and the separation from his 
family, had preyed upon his mind and body. He was half- 
starved, too ; for after being used to all the comforts of life, 
he had to live in jail on sixpence a-day. Yet there was one 
thousand pounds in the hands of the Accountant-G-eneral of 
the Court of Chancery, which was justly due to him. He was 
in contempt for not paying some three hundred pounds. But 
Death purged his contempt, and a decree was afterwards made 
for paying over the one thousand pounds to his personal repre- 
sentatives ; yet himself had died, for want of a twentieth part 
of it, of slow starvation ! 

It must not, however, be supposed that Chancery never 
releases its victims. We must be just to the laws of “ Equity.” 
There is actually a man now in London whom they have posi- 
tively let out of prison ! They had, however, prolonged his 
agonies during seventeen years. He was committed for con 
tempt in not paying certain costs, as he had been ordered 
He appealed from the order ; but until his appeal was heard, 
he had to remain in durance vile. The Court of Chancery, like 
all dignified bodies, is never in a hurry ; and, therefore, from 
having no great influence, and a very small stock of money to 


THE MARTYRS OF CHANCERY. 


245 


forward his interest, the poor man could only get his cause 
finally heard and decided on in December, 1849 — seventeen 
years from the date of his imprisonment. And, after all, the 
Court decided that the original order was wrong ; so that he 
had been committed for seventeen years hy mistake ! 

How familiar to him must have been the face of that poor, 
ottering man, creeping along to rest on the bench under the 
wall yonder. He is very old, but not so old as he looks. He 
is a poor prisoner, and another victim to Chancery. He has 
long ago forgotten, if he ever knew, the particulars of his own 
case, or the order which sent him to a jail. He can tell you 
more of the history of this gloomy place and its defunct 
brother, the Fleet, than any other man. He will relate you 
stories of the “ palmy days” of the Fleet, when great and 
renowned men were frequently its denizens ; when soldiers and 
sailors, authors and actors, whose names even then filled 
England with their renown, were prisoners within its walls J 
when whistling shops flourished and turnkeys were smugglers , 
when lodgings in the prison were dearer than rooms at the 
west-end of the town ; and when a young man was not con- 
sidered to have finished his education until he had spent a 
month or two in the Bench or the Fleet. He knows nothing 
of the world outside — it is dead to him. Relations and friends 
have long ceased to think of him, or perhaps even to know of 
his existence. Hi thoughts range not beyond the high walls 
which surround him, and probably if he had but a little better 
upply of food and clothing, he might almost be considered a 
appy man. But it is the happiness of apathy, not of the 
intelligence and the affections — the painless condition of a 
trance, rather than the joyous feeling which has hope for its 
bright-eyed minister. What has he to do with hope } He has 


246 


THE MARTYRS OF CHANCERY 


been thirty-eight years a Chancery prisoner. He is another 
out of twenty-four, still prisoners here, more thifn half of 
whom have been prisoners for above ten years, and not one 
of whom has any hope of release ! A few have done something 
fraudulent in “contempt” of all law and equity; but is not 
even thdr punishment greater than their crime } 

Let us turn away. Surely we have seen enough, though 
many other sad tales may be told, rivaling the horrors of 
Speilberg and French Lettres-de-cachet. 


'£i)H 


LAW AT A LOW PRICE. 

Low, narrow, dark, and frowning are the thresholds of our nns 
of Court. If there is one of these entrances of which I have 
more dread than another, it is that leading out of Holborn to 
Gray’s Inn. I never remember to have met a cheerful face at 
it, until the other morning, when I encountered Mr. Ficker, at- 
torney-at-law. In a few minutes we found ourselves arm in arm, 
and straining our voices to the utmost amid the noise of pass- 
ing vehicles. Mr. Ficker stretched himself on tiptoe in a frantic 
effort to inform me that he was going to a County Court. “ But 
perhaps you have not heard of these places 

I assured Mr. Ficker that the parliamentary discussions con- 
cerning them had made me very anxious to see how justice was 
administered in these establishments for low-priced Law. “ ^ 
am going to one now but he impressively added, ‘‘ you must 
understand, that professionally I do not approve of their work- 
ing. There can be no doubt that they seriously prejudice the 
regular course of law. Comparing the three quarters preceding 
with three quarters subsequent to the establishment of these 
Courts, there was a decrease of nearly 10,000 writs issued by 
the Court of Queen’s Bench alone, or of nearly 12,500 on the 
year.” 

We soon arrived at the County Court. It is a plain, substan- 
tial looking building, wholly without pretension, but at the same 
time not devoid of some little architectural elegance of exterior. 
We entered, by a gateway far less austere than that of Gray’s 
Inn, a long, well-lighted passage, on either side of which were 


248 


LAW AT A LOW PRICE. 


offices connected with the (]ourt. One of these was the Sum- 
mons Office, and I observed on the wall a “ Table of Fees,” 
and as I saw Mr. Ficker consulting it with a view to his own 
business, I asked him his opinion of the charges. 

“ Why,” said he, “ the scale of fees is too lafge for the client 
and too small for the lawyer. But suitors object less to the 
amount than to the intricacies and perplexities of the Table. In 
some districts the expense of recovering a sum of money is one- 
third more than it is in others ; though in both the same scale 
of fees is in operation. This arises from the variety of interpre- 
tations which different judges and officers put upon the charges.” 

Passing out of the Summons Office, we entered a large hall, 
placarded with lists of trials for the ensuing week. There were 
more than one hundred of them set down for trial on nearly 
every day. 

“ I am glad,” I said, ‘‘ to think that this is not all additional 
litigation. I presume these are the thousands of causes a-year 
withdrawn from the superior Courts .?” 

“ The skeletons of them,” said Mr. Ficker, with a sigh. 
“ There were some ‘pickings out of the old processes ; but I am 
afraid there is nothing but the bone here.” 

‘‘ I see here,” said I, pointing to one of the lists, “ a single 
plaintiff entered, as proceeding against six-and-twenty defendants 
in succession.” 

“ Ah,” said Mr. Ficker, rubbing his hands, “ a knowing fellow 
that — quite awake to the business of these Courts. A cheap 
and easy way, sir, of recovering old debts. I don’t know who 
the fellow is — a tailor, very likely — but no doubt you will find 
uis name in the list in this way once every half-year. If his 
Midsummer and Christmas bills are not punctually paid, it is far 
cheaper to come here and get a summons served, than to send 


LAW AT A LOW PRICE. 


249 


all over London to collect the accounts, with the chance of not 
finding the customer at home. And this is one way, you see, in 
which we solicitors are defrauded. No doubt, this fellow formerly 
employed an attorney to write letters for him, requesting payment 
of the amount of his bill, and 6s. 8d. for the cost of the applica- 
tion. Now, instead of going to an attorney, he comes here and 
gets the sumn.ons served for 2^. A knowing hand that — a 
knowing hand.” 

“ But,” I said, “ surely no respectable tradesman ” 

“ Respectahle^'^^ said Mr. Ficker, “ I said nothing about re- 
spectability. This sort of thing is very common among a certain 
class of trades-people, especially pufl&ng tailors and boot-makers. 
Such people rely less on regular than on chance-custom, and 
therefore they care less about proceeding against those who deal 
with them.” 

“ But,” said I, “ this is a decided abuse of the power of the 
(Jourt. Such fellows ought to be exposed.” 

“ Phoo, phoo,” said Mr. Ficker ; “ they are, probably, soon 
known here, and then if the judge does his duty, they get bare 
justice, and nothing more. I am not sure, indeed, that some- 
times their appearance here may not injure rather than be of 
advantage to them ; for the barrister may fix a distant date for 
payment of a debt which the tradesman, by a little civility, might 
have obtained from his customer a good deal sooner.” 

“ The Court” I found to be a lofty room, somewhat larger 
and handsomer than the apartment in which the Hogarths are 
hung up in the National Gallery. One-half was separated from 
the other by a low partition, on the outer side of which stood a 
miscellaneous crowd of persons who appeared to be waiting their 
turn to be called forward. Though the appearance of the Court 
was new and handsome, everything was plain and simple 


250 


LAW AT A LOW PRICE. 


I was much struck by the appearance and manner of the 
Judge. He was comparatively a young man; but I fancied 
that he displayed the characteristics of experience. His atten- 
tion to the proceedings was unwearied ; his discrimination ap- 
peared admirable ; and there was a calm self-possession about 
him that bordered upon dignity. 

The suitors who attended were of every class and character 
There were professional men, tradesmen, costermongers, and a 
peer. Among the plaintiffs, there were specimens of the con- 
siderate plaintiff, the angry plaintiff, the cautious plaintiff, the 
bold-swearing plaintiff, the energetic plaintiff, the practiced 
plaintiff, the shrewish (female) plaintiff, the nervous plaintiff, 
and the revengeful plaintiff. Each plaintiff was allowed to state 
his or her case in his or her own way, and to call witnesses, 
if there were any. When the debt appeared to be ‘prirm facie 
proved, the Barrister turned to the defendant, and perhaps 
asked him if he disputed it ? 

The characteristics of the defendants were quite as different 
as the characteristics of the plaintiffs. There was the factious 
defendant, and the defendant upon principle — the stormy de- 
fendant, and the defendant who was timid — the impertinent de- 
fendant, and the defendant who left his case entirely to the 
Court — the defendant who would never pay, and the defendant 
who would if he could. The causes of action I found to be as 
multifarious as the parties were diverse. Besides suits by trades- 
people for every description of goods supplied, there were claims 
for every sort and kind of service that can belong to humanity 
from the claim of a monthly nurse, to the claim of the under- 
taker’s assistant. 

In r roving these claims the Judge was strict in insisting that 
% proper account should have been delivered, and that the best 


LAW AT A LOW PRICE. 


251 


evidence should be produced as to the correctness of the items. 
No one could come to the court and receive a sum of money 
merely by swearing that “ Mr. So-and-so owes me so much.” 

With regard to defendants, the worst thing they could do, was 
to remain away wh-en summoned to attend. It has often been 
observed that those persons about whose dignity there is any 
doubt, are the most rigorous in enforcing its observance. It 
is with Courts as it is with men ; and as Small Debt Courts 
are sometimes apt to be held in some contempt, I found the 
Judge here very prompt in his decision, whenever a defendant 
did not appear by self or agent. Take a case in point : — 

Barristtr {to the Clerk of the Court). Make an order in fa- 
vor of the plaintiff. 

Plaintiff’’ s Attorney. Your honor will give us speedy recovery } 

Barrister. Will a month do, Mr. Docket } 

Plaintiff'’s Attorney. The defendant is not here to assign 
any reason for delay, your honor. 

Barrister. Very well ; then let him pay in a fortnight. 

I was much struck, in some of the cases, by a friendly sort of 
confidence which characterized some of the proceedings. Here 
again the effect in a great measure was attributable to the Bar- 
rister. He seemed to act — as indeed he is — rather as an au- 
thorized arbitrator than as a judge. He advised rather than 
ordered ; “ I really think, he said, to one defendant, “ I really 
think, sir, you have made yourself liable.” “ Do you, sir V’ 
said the man, pulling out his purse, without more ado, “ then, 
sir, I am sure I will pay.” 

It struck me, too, as remarkable, that though some of the 
'jases were hotly contested, none of the defeated parties com- 


252 


LAW AT A LOW PRICE. 


plained of the decision. In several instances, the parties even 
appeared to acquiesce in the propriety of the verdict. 

A Scotch shoeing-smith summoned a man who, from his ap- 
pearance, I judged to be a hard, keen-dealing Yorkshire horse- 
jobber ; he claimed a sum of money for putting shoes upon six- 
and-thirty horses. His claim was just,. but there was an error 
in his particulars of demand which vitiated it. The Barriste 
took some trouble to point out that in consequence of this error 
even if he gave a decision in his favor, he should be doing him 
an injury. The case was a hard one, and I could not help re- 
gretting that the poor plaintiff should be non-suited. Did ht 
complain ? Neither by word or action. Folding up his papers, 
he said, sorrowfully, “ Well, sir, I assure you I would not have 
come here, if it had not been a just claim.” The Barrister 
evidently believed him, for he advised a compromise, and ad- 
journed the case that the parties might try to come to terms. 
But the defendant would not arrange, and the plaintiff was driven 
to elect a non-suit. 

The mode of dealing with documentary evidence afforded me 
considerable satisfaction. Private letters — such as the tender 
effusions of faithless love — are not, as in the higher Courts, thrust 
one after the other, into the dirty face of a grubby-looking wit- 
ness who was called to prove the handwriting, sent the round of 
the twelve jurymen in the box, and finally passed to the report- 
ers that they might copy certain flowery sentences and a few 
tanzas from “ Childe Harold,” which the short-hand writers 
“could not catch,” but are handed up, seriatim, to the Judge 
who looks through them carefully and then passes them over 
without observation for the re-perusal of the defendant Not a 
word transpires except such extracts as require comment 

There was a claim against a gentleman for a butcher’s bill 


LAW AT A LOW PRICE. 


258 


He had the best of all defences, for he had paid ready money 
for every item as it was delivered. The plaintiff was the younger 
partner of a butchering firm which had Broken up, leaving him 
in possession of the books and his partner in possession of the 
credit. The proprietor of the book-debts proved the order and 
delivery of certain joints prior to a certain date, and swore they 
had not been paid for. To show his title to recover the value 
of them, he somewhat unnecessarily thrust before the Barrister, 
the deed which constituted him a partner. The Judge instantly 
compared the deed with the bill. “ Why,” he said, turning to 
the butcher, “ all the items you have sworn to were purchased 
anterior to the date of your entering into partnership. If any 
one is entitled to recover, it is your partner, whom the defendant 
alleges he has paid.” In one, as they are called, of the “ Su- 
perior Courts,” I very much doubt whether either Judge or Jury 
would have discovered for themselves this important discrepancy. 

The documentary evidence was not confined to deeds and 
writings, stamped or unstamped. Even during the short time 
I was present, I saw some curious records produced before the 
Barrister — records as primitive in their way as those the Chan- 
cellor of the Exchequer used to keep in the Tally-Ofl&ce, before 
the comparatively recent introduction of book-keeping into the 
department of our national accountant. 

Among other things received in evidence, were a milkwoman’s 
score and a baker’s notches. Mr. Ficker appeared inclined to 
think that no weight ought to be attached to such evidence a 
this. But, when I recollect that there have occasionally been 
such things as tombstones produced in evidence before Lord Vol- 
atile in his own particular Court, the House of Lords, (“ the 
highest jurisdiction,” as they call it, “in the realm,”) I see no 
good reason why Mrs. Chalk, the milkwoman, should not be per- 


254 


LAW AI A LOW PRICE. 


mitted to produce her tallies iu a County Court. For c^ery 
practical purpose the score upon the one seems just as good a 
document as the epitaph upon the other. 

I was vastly pleased by the great consideration which ap- 
peared to be displayed towards misfortune and adversity. These 
Courts are emphatically Courts for the recovery of debts ; and 
inasmuch as they afford great facilities to plaintiffs, it is there- 
fore the more incumbent that defendants should be protected 
against hardship and oppression. A man was summoned to 
show why he had not paid a debt pursuant to a previous order 
of the Court. The plaintiff attended to press the case against 
him, and displayed some rancor. 

“ Why have you not paid, sir demanded the Judge sternly. 

“ Your honor,” said the man, “ I have been out of employ- 
ment six months, and within the last fortnight everything I have 
in the world has been seized in execution.” 

In the Superior Courts this would have been no excuse. The 
man would probably have gone to prison, leaving his wife and 
family upon the parish. But here that novel sentiment in law 
proceedings — sympathy — peeped forth . 

I believe this man would pay,” said the Barrister, ‘‘ if pos- ' 
sible. But he has lost everything iu the world. At present I 
shall make no order.” 

It did not appear to me that the plaintiffs generally in thi 
Court were anxious to press very hardly upon defendants. In- 
deed it would be bad policy to do so. Grive a man time, and 
he can often meet demands that it would he impossible for him 
to defray if pressed at once. 

‘‘ Immediate execution” in this Court, seemed to be payment 
within a fortnight. An order to pay in weekly installments is a 
common mode of arranging a case, and as it is usually made by 


LAW AT A LOW PRICE. 


255 


agreement between the parties, both of them are satisfied. In 
fact, the rule of the Court seemed not dissimilar from that 
of trades-people who want to do a quick business, and who 
proceed upon the principle that “No reasonable offer is re- 
fused.” 

I had been in the Court sufficiently long to make these and 
other observations, when Mr. Fieker introduced me to the clerk. 
On leaving the Court by a side-door, we repaired to Mr. Nottit’s 
room, where we found that gentleman (an old attorney) pre- 
pared to do the honors of “ a glass of sherry and a biscuit.” Of 
course the conversation turned upon “ the County Court.” 

“ Doing a pretty good business here .^” said Mr. Dicker. 

“ Business — we’re at it all day,” replied Mr. Nottit. “ I’ll 
show you. This is an account of the business of the County 
Courts in England and Wales in the year 1848 — the account 
for 1849 is not yet made up.” 

“ Take six months, I suppose, to make it,” said Mr. Fieker, 
rather ill-naturedly. 

“ Total ‘ Number of Plaints or Causes entered,’ ” read the 
clerk, “ 427,611.” 

“ Total amount of money sought to be recovered by the plain- 
tiffs,” continued Mr. Nottit, “ 1,346 ,802.” 

“ Grood gracious !” exclaimed Dicker, his face expressing 
envy and indignation ; “ what a benefit would have been confer- 
red upon society, if all this property had been got into the le- 
gitimate Law Courts ! What a benefit to the possessors of all 
this wealth ! I have no doubt whatever that during the past 
year the suitors, who have recovered this million and a quarter, 
have- spent the whole of it, squandered it upon what they called 
“ necessaries of life.” Look at the difference if it had only been 
locked up for them — say in Chancery. It would have been pre- 


256 


LAW AT A LOW PRICE. 


served with the greatest possible safety ; accounted for — every 
fraction of it — in the books of the Accountant-General ; and we, 
sir, we — the respectable practitioners in the profession — should 
have gone down three or four times every year to the Master’s 
offices to see that it was all right, and to have had a little con- 
sultation as to the best means of holding it safely for our client, 
until his suit was properly and equitably disposed of.” 

“ But, perhaps, Ficker,” I suggested, “ these poor clients 
make better use of their own money after all than the Courts 
of Law and Equity could make it for them.” 

“ Then the costs,” said Mr. Ficker, with an attorney’s ready 
eye to business, “ let us hear about them.” 

“ The total amount of costs adjudged to be paid by de- 
fendants on the amount (i0752,5OO) for which judgment was 
obtained, was i0199,98O,” was the answer — “ being an addition 
of 26.5 per cent, on the amount ordered to be paid.” 

“ Well,” said Mr. Ficker, “ that’s not so very bad. Twenty 
five per cent.,” turning to me, “ is a small amount undoubtedly 
for the costs of an action duly brought to trial ; but, as the 
greater part of these costs are costs of Court, twenty-five per 
cent, cannot be considered inadequate.” 

“ It seems to me a great deal too much,” said I. “ Justice 
ought to be much cheaper.” 

“ All the fees to counsel and attorneys are included in the 
amount,” remarked the clerk, “ and so are allowances to wit- 
nesses. The fees on causes amounted to very nearly i£300,000. 
Of this sum, the Officers’ fees were, in 1848, .£234,274, and 
the General Fund fees £51,784.” 

“ Not so bad !” said Mr. Ficker, smiling. 

“ The Judges’ fees amounted to nearly £90,000. This would 
Uave given them all £1500 each; but the Treasury has fixed 


LAW AT A LOW PRICK. 


257 


their salaries at a uniform sum of £1000, so that the sixty 
Judges only draw £60,000 of the £90,000.” 

‘‘ Where does the remainder go I inquired. 

The County Court Clerk shook his head. 

“ But you don’t mean,” said I, “ that the suiters are made 
to pay £90,000 a-year for what only costs £60,000 .?” 

“ I am afraid it is so,” said Mr. Nottit. 

“ Dear me !” said Mr. Dicker ; “ I never heard of such a 
thing in all my professional experience. I am sure the* Lord 
Chancellor would never sanction that in his Court. You 
ought to apply to the Courts above, Mr. Nottit — you ought, 
indeed.” 

“ And yet,” said I, “ I think I have heard something about 
a Suitors’ Fee Fund in those Courts above — eh. Dicker.^” 

“ Ah — hem — yes,” said Mr. Dicker. ‘‘ Certainly — but the 
cases are not at all analogous. By the way, how are the other 
fees distributed 

“ The Clerks,” said Mr. Nottit, “ received £87,283, nearly 
as much as the Judges. As there are 491 clerks, the average 
would be £180 a-year to each. But as the Clerks’ fees accu- 
mulate in each Court according to the business transacted, of 
course the division is very unequal. In one Court in Wales 
the Clerk only got £8 10s. in fees ; in another Court, in York 
shire, his receipts only amounted to £9 4s. 3^. But some of 
my colleagues made a good thing of it. The Clerks’ fees in 
some of the principal Courts are very ‘ Comfortable.’ 

“ The Clerk of Westminster netted . . . £2731 

Clerkenwell .... 2227 

Southwark ..... 1710 

Bristol, Shefl&eld, Bloomsbury, Birmingham, Shoreditch, Leeds. 
Marylebone, received £1000 a-year and upwards.” 

17 


258 


LAW AT A LOW PRICE. 


“ But,” continued our friend, “ three-fourths of the Clcrk^ 
get less than £100 a-year.” 

“ Now,” said Mr. Ficker, “ tell us what you all do for this 
money 

“ Altogether, said the clerk, “ the Courts sat in 1848, 
8,386 days, or an average for each Judge of 140 days. ' The 
greatest number of sittings was in Westminster, where the 
Judge sat 246 days. At liiverpool, there were sittings on 
225 ddys. The number of trials, as I have before mentioned, 
was 259,118, or an average of about 4,320 to each Judge, 
and 528 to each Court. In some of the Courts, however, as 
many as 20,000 cases are tried in a year.” 

‘‘ Why,” said Mr. Ficker, “ they can’t give five minutes to 
each case ! Is this ‘ administration of justice ” 

“ When,” said the clerk, ‘‘ a case is undefended, a plaintiff 
appears, swears to his debt, and obtains an order for its pay- 
ment, which takes scarcely two minutes.” • 

‘‘ How long does a defended case take .^” 

“ On the average, I should say, a quarter of an hour; that 
is, provided counsel are not employed.” 

“ Jury cases occupy much longer .?” 

“ Undoubtedly.” 

Are the jury cases frequent .?” I inquired — some feeling 
of respect for ‘ our time-honored institution’ coming across me 
as I spoke. 

“ Nothing,” said our friend, “ is more remarkable in the 
history of the County Courts than the very limited resort which 
suitors have to juries. It is within the power of either party 
to cause the jury to be summoned in any case where the plaint 
is upwards of £5 The total number of cases tried in 1848 was 
259,118. Of these, upwards of 50,000 were cases in which 


LAW AT A LOW PRICE. 


259 


juries might have been summoned. But there were only 884 
jury casei in all the Courts, or one jury for about every 270 
trials ! 1 he party requiring the jury obtained a verdict in 446 

out of the 884 cases, or exactly one-half. 

At any rate, then, there is no imputation on the juries,” 
said Mr. Ficker. 

“ The power of resorting to them is very valuable,” said 
our friend. “ There is a strong disposition among the public 
to rely upon the decision of the Barrister, and that reliance 
is not without good foundation, for certainly justice in these 
Courts have been well administered. But there may be occa- 
sions when it would be very desirable that a jury should be 
interposed between a party to a cause and the presiding Judge ; 
and certainly if the jurisdiction of these Courts is extended, 
it will be most desirable that suitors should be able to satisfy 
themselves that every opportunity is open to them of obtain- 
ing justice.” 

“ For my own part,” said I, “ I would as soon have the 
decision of one honest man as of twelve honest men, and per- 
haps I would prefer it. If the Judge is a liberal-minded and 
enlightened man, I would rather take his judgment than submit 
my case to a dozen selected by chance, and among whom there 
would most probably be at least a couple of dolts. By the 
way, why should not the same option be given to suitors in 
Westminster Hall as is given in the County Courts .?” 

“What!” exclaimed Mr. Ficker, “abolish trial by Jury! 
the palladium of British liberty ! Have you no respect fo 
antiquity .?” 

“We must adapt ourselves to the altered state of society, 
Ficker. Observe the great proportion of cases tried in these 
Courts — more than sixty per cent, of the entire number of 


260 


LAW AT A LOW PRICE. 


plaints entered. This is vastly greater than the number in 
the Superior Courts, where there is said to be scarcely one 
cause tried for fifty writs issued. Why is this ? Simply be- 
cause the cost deters parties from continuing the actions. Thej 
settle rather than go to a jury.” 

“ And a great advantage, too,” said Mr. Ficker. 

“ Under the new bill,” said our friend, the Clerk, “ Ficker 
client’s will all be coming to us. They will be able to recover 
£50 in these Courts, without paying Ficker a single 65 . 8d. 
unless they have a peculiar taste for law expenses.” 

“ And a hideous amount of rascality and perjury will be 
the consequence,” said Mr. Ficker. “ You will make these 
Courts mere Plaintifls’ Courts, sir — Courts to which every 
rogue will be dragging the first man who he thinks can paj 
him <£50, if he only swears hard enough that it is due to him 
I foresee the greatest danger from this extension of litigation, 
under the pretence of providing cheap law. 

“ Fifty pounds,” said I, “ is, to a large proportion of the 
people, a sum of money of very considerable importance. I 
must say, I think it would be quite right that inferior courts 
should not have the right of dealing with so much of a man’s 
property, without giving him a power of appeal, at least under 
restrictions. But, at the same time, looking at the satisfactory 
way in which this great experiment has worked — seeing how 
many righteous claims have been established and just defences 
maintained, which would have been denied under any other 
system — I cannot but hope to see the day when, attended by 
proper safeguards for the due administration of justice, these 
Courts will be open to even a more numerous class of suitors 
than at present. It is proposed that small Charitable Trust 
cases shall be submitted to the Judges of these Courts ; why 


LAW AT A LOW PRICE. 


2G1 


aot ilso refer to them cases in which local magistrates cannot 
no^ act without suspicion of partisanship r — cases, for example, 
under the Grame Laws, or the Turnpike Laws, and, more than 
all, offences against the Truck Act, which essentially embody 
matters of account. Why not,” said I, preparing for a burst 

of eloquence — why not ” 

“ Overthrow at once the Seat of Justice, the Letter of the 
Law, and our glorious constitution in Church and State !” 

It was Mr. Fieker who spoke, and he had rushed frantically 
from the room ere I could reply. 

Having no one to argue the point furtl er with, I made m-y 
..x)w to Mr Nottit and retired also. 




THE LAW. 

The most litigious fellow I ever knew, was a Welshman, named 
Bones, fie had got possession, by some means, of a bit of 
waste ground behind a public-house in Hogwash Street. Ad- 
joining this land was a yard belonging to the parish of St. 
Jeremiah, which the Parish Trustees were fencing in with a 
wall. Bones alleged that one^ corner of their wall was ad- 
vanced about ten inches on his ground, and as they declined 
to remove it back, he kicked down the brick-work before the 
mortar was dry. The Trustees having satisfied themselves that 
they were rot only within their boundary, but that they had left 
Bones some feet of the parish land to boot, built up the wall 
again Bones kicked it down again. 

The Trustees put it up a third time, under the protection of 
a policeman. The inexorable Bones, in spite of the awful 
presence of this functionary^ not only kicked down the wall 
again, but kicked the brick-layei’s into the bargain. This was 
too much, and Bones was marched off to Guildhall for assault- 
ing the brick-layers. The magistrate rather pooh-poohed the 
complaint, but bound over Bones to keep the peace. The 
causa belli, the wall, was re-edified a fourth time ; but when 
the Trustees revisited the place next morning, it was again 
in ruins ! While they were in consultation upon this last in- 
sult, they were politely waited on by an attorney’s clerk, who 
served them all with “ writs” in an action of trespass, at the 
suit of Bones, for encroaching on his land. 

Thus war was declared about a piece of dirty land literally 


the law. 


263 


not so big as a door-step, and the whole fee-simple of which 
would not sell for a shilling. The Trustees, however, thought 
they ought not to give up the rights of the parish to the ob- 
stinacy of a perverse fellow, like Bones, and resolved to indict 
Bones for assaulting the workmen. Accordingly, the action 
and the indictment went on together. 

The action was tried first, and as the evidence clearly showed 
the Trustees had kept within their own boundary, they got the 
verdict. Bones moved for a new trial ; that failed. The 
Trustees now thought the vould let the matter rest, as it had 
cost the parish about one hundred and fifty pounds, and they 
supposed Bones had had enough of it. But they had mistaken 
their man. He brought a writ of error in the action, which car- 
ried the cause into the Exchequer Court, and tied it up nearly 
two years, and in the meantime he forced them nolens volens to 
try the indictment. When the trial came on, the judge said, 
that as the whole question had been decided in the action, 
there was no occasion for any further proceedings, and there- 
fore the Defendant had better be acquitted, and so make an end 
of it. 

Accordingly, Bones was acquitted ; and the very next thing 
Bones did was to sue the Trustees in a new action, for mali- 
ciously instituting the indictment against him without reasonable 
cause ! The new action went on to trial ; and it being proved 
that one of the Trustees had been overheard to say that they 
would punish him ; this was taken as evidence of malice, and 
Bones got a verdict for forty shillings damages besides all the 
costs. Elated with this victory. Bones pushed on his old ac- 
tion in the Exchequer Chamber to a hearing, but the Court 
affirmed the judgment againt hiu^ without hearing the Trustees’ 
counsel. 


264 


THE LAW. 


The Trustees were now sick of the very name of Bones, 
which had become a sort of bugbear, so that if a Trustee met a 
friend in the street he would be greeted with an inquiry after 
the health of his friend, Mr. Bones. They would have gladly 
let the whole matter drop into oblivion, but Jupiter and Bones 
had determined otherwise ; for the indomitable Briton brought 
a Writ of Error in the House of Lords, on the judgment of the 
Exchequer Chamber. The unhappy Trustees had caught a 
Tartar, and follow him into the Lords they must. Accordingly, 
after another year or two’s delay, the case came on in the Lords. 
Their Lordships pronounced it the most trumpery Writ of Error 
they had ever seen, and again affirmed the judgment, with costs, 
against Bones. The Trustees now taxed their costs, and found 
that they had spent not less than five hundred pounds in defend- 
ing their claims to a bit of ground that was not of the value of 
an old shoe. But, then. Bones was condemned to pay the 
costs. True — so they issued execution against Bones ; caught 
him, after some trouble, and locked him up in jail. The 
next week, Bones petitioned the Insolvent Court, got out of 
prison, and, on examination of his schedule, his effects ap- 
peared to be iSO 05 . Od. ! Bones had, in fact, been fighting 
the Trustees on credit for the last three years ; for his own 
attorney was put down as a creditor to a large amount, which 
was the only satisfaction the Trustees obtained from perusing 
his schedule. 

They were now obliged to have recourse to the Parish funds 
to pay their own law expenses, and were consoling themselve 
with the reflection that these did not come out of thdr own 
foclitts — when they received the usual notification that a Bill in 
Chancery had been filed against them, at Mr. Bones’s suit, to 
overhaul their accounts with the parish, and 'prevent the misap- 


THE LAW. 


205 


'plication of the. Parish money to the payment of their law costs ! 
This was the climax. And being myself a disciple of Coke, I 
have heard nothing further of it ; being unwilling, as well per- 
haps as unqualified, to follow the case into the labyrinthic vaults 
of the Court of Chancery. The catastrophe, if this were a 
tale, could h irdly be mended — so the true story may end 
here 


xaiu. 


THE DUTIES OF WITNESSES AND JUEFMEN 

I AM not a young man, and have passed much of my life in oui 
Criminal Courts. I am, and have been, in active practice at 
the Bar, and I believe myself capable of offering some hints 
toward an improved administration of justice. 

I do not allude to any reform in the law, though I believe 
much to be needed. I mean to confine myself to amendments 
which it is in the power of the people to make for themselves, 
and indeed, which no legistature, however enlightened, can make 
for them. 

In no country can the laws be well administered, where the 
popular mind stands at a low point in the scale of intelligence, 
or where the moral tone is lax. The latter defect is of course 
the most important, but it is so intimately connected with the 
former, that they commonly prevail together, and the causes 
which remove the one, have, almost without exception, a salutary 
effect upon the other. 

That the general diffusion of morals and intelligence is essen- 
tial to the healthy working of jurisprudence in all countries, will 
be admitted, when it is recollected that no tribunal, however 
skillful, can arrive at the truth by any other way than by the 
testimony of witnesses, and that consequently on their trust- 
worthiness the enjoyment of property, character, and life, must 
of necessity depend. 

Again, wherever trial by jury is established, a further demand 
arises for morals and intelligence among the people. It follows 
then, as a consequence almost too obvious to justify the remark, 


THE DUTIES OF WITNESSES AND JURYMEN. 


267 . 


that whatever in any country enlarges and strengthens these 
great attributes of civilization, raises its capacity for performing 
that noblest duty of social man, the administration of justice. 

Let me first speak of witnesses and their testimony. It is 
sometimes supposed that the desire to be veracious is the only 
quality essential to form a trustworthy witness — and an essential 
quality it is beyond all doubt — but it is possessed by many who 
are nevertheless very unsafe guides to truth. In the first place, 
this general desire for truth in a mind not carefully regulated, 
is apt to give way, oftentimes unconsciously, to impressions 
which overpower habitual veracity. It may be laid down as a 
general rule that witnesses are partisans, and that, often without 
knowing it, their evidence takes a color from the feeling of par- 
tisanship, which gives it all the injurious effects of willful false- 
liood — nay, it is frequently more pernicious. The witness' who 
knowingly pervei ts the truth, often betrays his mendicity by his 
voice, his countenance, or his choice of words ; while the uncon- 
scious perverter gives his testimony with all the force of sincerity. 
Let the witness who intends to give evidence worthy of confi- 
dence, be on his guard against the temptations to become a par- 
tisan. Witnesses ought to avoid consorting together on the eve 
of a trial ; still more, discussing the matters in dispute, and com- 
paring their intended statements. Musicians have observed that 
if two instruments, not in exact accordance, are played together, 
they have a tendency to run into harmony. Witnesses are pre- 
isely such instruments, and act on each other in like manner. 

So uch with regard to the moral tone of the witness ; but 
the difficulties which I have pointed out may be surmounted, 
and yet leave his evidence a very distorted narrative of the real 
facts. Consideration must be given to the intellectual require- 
ments of a witness. It was the just remark of Dr. Johnson that 


268 


THE DUTIES OF V‘'ITNESSES AND JURYMEN. 


complaints of the memory were often very unjust toward that 
faculty which was reproached with not retaining what had never 
been confided to its care. The defect is not a failure of memory 
but a lack of observation ; the ideas have not run out of the 
mind — they never went into it. 

This is a deficiency, which cannot be dealt with in any special 
relation to the subject in hand ; it can only be corrected by 
cultivating a general habit of observation, which, considering 
that the dearest interests of others may be imperiled by errors 
arising out of the neglect to observe accurately, must be looked 
upon in the light of a duty. 

A still greater defect is the absence of the power of distin- 
guishing fact and inference. Nothing but a long experience in 
Courts of J ustice, can give a notion of the extent to which tes- 
timony is adulterated by this defect. It is often exemplified in 
the depositions of witnesses, or rather in the comparison betweer 
the depositions which, as your readers know, are taken in writing 
before the committing magistrate, and the evidence given on the 
trial. 

Circumstances on which the witness had been silent when ex- 
amined before the magistate shortly after the event, make their 
appearance in his evidence on the day of trial ; so that his mem- 
ory purports to augment inaccuracy in proportion to their time 
which has elapsed since the transaction of which he speaks ! 

I have observed this effect produced in a marvelous degree 
in cases of new trial, which in civil suits are often awarded, and 
which frequently take place years after the event to which the 
relate. The comparison of the evidence of the same witness 
as it stands upon the short-hand writer’s notes of the two trials, 
would lead an unpracticed r ^ader to the conclusion that nothing 
but perjury could account for he diversities ; and this impression 


THE DUTIL3 OF WITNESSES AND JURYMEN. 


26S 


would be confirmed, if* he should find, as in all probability he 
would, that the points on which the latter memory was better 
supplied than the earlier, were just those on which the greatest 
doubt had prevailed on the former occasion, and which were 
made in favor of the party on whose side the witness had been 
called. But the critic would be mistaken. The witness was 
not dishonest, but had failed to keep watch over the operations 
of his own mind. He had perhaps often adverted to the subject, 
and often discoursed upon it, until at length he confounded the 
facts which had occurred, with the inference which he had drawn 
from such facts, in establishment of the existence of others, which 
had in reality no place except in his own cogitation, but which 
after a time took rank in his memory with its original im- 
pressions. 

The best safeguard a witness could employ to preserve the 
unalloyed memory of transactions, is to commit his narrative to 
writing, as soon after the event as he shall have learned that his 
evidence repecting them is likely to be required ; and yet I can 
hardly recommend such a course, because so little is the world, 
and even that portion of the world which passes its life in Courts 
of Justice, acquainted with what may be called the Philosophy 
of Evidence, that a conscientious endeavor of this kind to pre- 
serve his testimony in its purity, might draw upon him the im- 
putation of having fabricated his narrative ; and this is the more 
probable, because false witnesses have not unfrequently taker 
similar means for abiding by their fictions. 

It is worthy of note how much these disturbing causes, both 
moral and intellectual, fasten upon these portions of evidence 
which are most liable to distortion. Words, as contra-dis- 
tinguished from facts, exemplify the truth of this position. Every 
witness ought to feel great distrust c ' himself in giving evidence 


270 


THt DUTIES OF WITNESSES AND JURYMEN 


of a conversation. Language, if it runs to any length, is very 
liable to be misunderstood, at least in passages. 

But suposing it to be well understood at the moment, the ex- 
act wording of it can rarely be recalled, unless the witness’s 
memory were tantamount in minuteness and accuracy to the 
record of a short-band writer. He is consequently permitted to 
give an abstract, or, as it is usually called, the substance of wha 
occurred. But here a new difficulty arises ; to abstract cor- 
rectly is an intellectual effort of no mean order, and is rarely 
accomplished with a decent approach to perfection. Let the 
juryman bear this in mind. He will be often tempted to rely 
on alleged confessions of prisoners sworn to by witnesses who 
certainly desire to speak the truth. These confessions often go 
so straight to the point, that they offer to the juryman a species 
of relief from that state of doubt, which, to minds un practiced 
in weighing probabilities, is irksome, almost beyond description. 
Speaking from the experience of thirty years, I should pro- 
nounce the evidence of words to be so dangerous in its nature 
as to demand the utmost vigilance, in all cases, before it is al- 
lowed to influence the verdict to any important extent. 

While I am on the subject of evidence, infirm in its nature, I 
must not pass over that of identity of person. The number of 
persons who resemble each other is not inconsiderable in itself ; 
but the number is very large of persons, who, though very dis- 
tinguishable when standing side by side, are yet sufficiently 
alike to deceive those who are without the means of immediat 
comparisop. 

Early in life an occurrence impressed me with the danger of 
relying on the most confidential belief of identity. I was at 
Vauxhall Hardens where I thought I saw, at a short distance, 
an old country gentleman whom I highly respected, and whose 


THE DUTIE8 01 WITNESSES AND JURYMEN. 


271 


tavor I should have been sorry to lose. I bowed to him, but 
obtained no recognition. In those days the company amused 
themselves by walking round in a circle, some in one direction, 
some in the opposite, by which every one saw and was seen — I 
say, in those days, because I have not been at Vauxhall for a 
quarter of a century. In performing these rounds I often met 
the gentleman, and tried to attract his attention, until I became 
convinced that either his eye-sight was so weakened that he 
did not know me, or that he chose to disown my acquaintance. 
Some time afterward, going into the county in w'hich he re- 
sided, I received, as usual, an invitation to dinner ; this led to 
an explanation, when my friend assured me he had not been in 
London for twenty years. I afterwards met the person whom I 
had mistaken for my old friend, and wondered how I could have 
fallen into the error. I can only explain it by supposing that, 
if the mind feels satisfied of identity, which it often does at 
the first glance, it ceases to investigate that question, and oc- 
cupies itself with other matter ; as in my case, where my 
thoughts ran upon the motives my friend might have, for not 
recognizing me, instead of employing themselves on the ques- 
tion of whether or no the individual before my eyes was indeed 
the person I took him for. 

If I had had to give evidence on this matter my mistake 
would have been the more dangerous, as I had full means of 
knowledge. The place was well lighted, the interviews were 
repeated, and my mind was undisturbed. How often have I 
known evidence of identity acted upon by juries, where the wit- 
ness was in a much less favoralle position (for correct observa- 
tion) than mine. * 

Sometimes, a mistaken verdict is avoided by independent evi- 
dence. Rarely, however, is this rock escaped, by cross-examin- 


272 


THE DUTIES OF WITNESSES AND URYMEN. 


ation, even when conducted wdth adequate skill and experience 
The belief of the witnei.^ is belief in a matter of opinion resulting 
from a combination of facts so slight and unimportant, separately 
considered, that they furnish no handle to the cross-examiner. 
A striking case of this kind oocurs to my recollection, with 
which I will conclude. 

A prisoner was indicted for shooting at the prosecutor, with 
intent to kill him. The prosecutor swore that the prisoner had 
demanded his money, and that upon refusal, or delay, to comply 
with his requisition, he fired a pistol, by the fiash of which his 
countenance became perfectly visible ; the shot did not take ef- 
fect, and the prisoner made off. Here the recognition was mo- 
mentary, and the prosecutor could hardly have been in an undis- 
turbed state of mind, yet the confidence of his belief made a 
strong impression on all who heard the evidence, and probably 
would have sealed the fate of the prisoner without the aid of an 
additional fact of very slight importance, which was, however, 
put in evidence by way of corroboration, that the prisoner, who 
was a stranger to the neighborhood, had been seen passing near 
the spot in which the attack was made about noon of the same 
day. The judge belonged to a class, now, thank God ! obsolete, 
who always acted on the reverse of the constitutional maxim, and 
considered every man guilty, until he was proved to be innocent. 

If the case had closed without witnesses on behalf of the pris- 
oner, his life would have been gone ; fortunately, he possessed 
the means of employing an able and zealous attorney, and, more 
ortunately, it so happened that several hours before the attack 
the prisoner had mounted upon a coach, and was raany miles 
^rom the scene of the crime at the hour of its commission. 

With great labor, and at considerable expense, all the pas- 
•ang'rs were sought out, and with the coachman and guard, 


THE DUTIES OF WITNESSES AND JOE'S lEN. 


273 


were brought into court, and testified to the presence among 
them of the prisoner. An alibi is always a suspected defence, 
and by no man was ever more suspiciously watched than by this 
judge. But then witness after witness appeared, their names 
corresponding exactly with the way-bill produced by the clerk of 
a respectable coach-office, the most determined scepticism gave 
way, and the prisoner was acquitted by acclamation. He was 
not, however, saved by his innocence, but by his good fortune. 
How frequently does it happen to us all to be many hours at a 
time without having witnesses to prove our absence from one 
spot by our presence at another ! And how many of us are too 
prone to avail ourselves of such proof in the instances where it 
may exist ! 

. A remarkable insta'Qce of mistake in identity, which put the 
life of a prisoner in e'rtreme peril, I heard f.om the lips of his 
counsel. It occurred at the Special Commission held at Not- 
tingham after the rio's consequent on the rejection of the Re- 
form Bill by the Hoiise of Lords, in 1831. 

The prisoner war. a young man of prepossessing appearance, 
belonging to what may be called the lower section of the middle 
rank of life, being a frame-work knitter, in the employment of 
his father, a master manufacturer in a small way. He was tried 
on an indictment charging him with the ofience of arson. A 
mob, of which he was alleged to be one, had burnt Colwick 
Hall, near Nottingham, the residence of Mr. Musters, the hus- 
band of Mary Chaworth, whose name is so closely linked with 
that of Byron. This ill-fated lady was approaching the las 
stage of consumption, when, on a cold and wet evening in 
autumn, she was driven from her mansion, and compelled to 
take refuge among the trees of her shrubbery — an outrage 
which probably h#*^tenod her death. 


274 


THE DUTIES OF WITNESSES AND JURYMEN. 


The Clime with its attendant circumstances, created, as was 
natural, a strong sympathy against the criminals. Unhappily, 
this feeling, so praiseworthy in itself, is liable to produce a 
strong tendency in the public mind to believe in the guilt of the 
party accused. People sometimes seem to hunger and thirst 
after a criminal, and are disappointed when it turns out that 
they are mistaken in their man, and are, consequently, slow to 
believe that such an error has been made. Doubtless, the im- 
pression is received into the mind unconsciously ; but although 
on that ground pardonable, it is all the more dangerous. In 
this case, the prisoner was identified by several witnesses as 
having taken an active part in setting fire to the house. 

He had been under their notice for some considerable space 
of time. They gave their evidence against him without hesita- 
tion, and probably the slightest doubt of its accuaracy. His 
defence was an alibi. The frame at which he worked had its 
place near the entrance to the warehouse, the room frequented by 
the customers and all who had business to transact at the manu- 
factory. He acted, therefore, as doorkeeper, and in that capa- 
city had been seen and spoken with by many persons, who in 
their evidence more than covered the whole time which elapsed 
between the arrival of the mob at Colwick Hall and its depar- 
ture. The alibi was believed, and the prisoner, after a trial 
which lasted a whole day, was acquitted. 

The next morning he was to be tried again on another indict- 
ment, charging him with having set fire to the Castle of Not- 
tingham. The counsel for the prosecution, infiuenced by mo- 
tives of humanity, and fully impressed with the prisoner’s guilt 
on both charges, urged the counsel for the prisoner to advise his 
client to plead guilty, undertaking that his life should be spared, 
but observing at the same time that his social position, which 


THE UL' ! Its OF WITNESSES ANE JURYMEN. 


275 


was superior to that of the other prisoners, would make it im- 
possible to extend the mercy of the Grown to him unless he 
manifested a due sense of his offences by foregoing the chance 
of escape. “ You know,” said they, ‘‘how rarely an alibi ob- 
tains credit with a jury. You can have no other defence to-day 
than that of yesterday. The Castle is much nearer than Col- 
wick Hall to the manufactory, and a very short absence from 
his work on the part of the prisoner might reconcile the 
evidence of all the witnesses, both for him and against him ; 
moreover, who ever heard of a successful alibi twice running 
The counsel for the prisoner had his client taken into a room 
adjoining the court, and having explained to him the extreme 
danger in which he stood, informed him of the offer made by 
the prosecutors. The young man evinced some emotion, and 
asked his counsel to advise what step he should take. “ The 
advice,” lie was an.swered, “ must depend upon a fact known to 
himself alone — his guilt or innocence. If guilty, his chance of 
escape was so small that it would be the last degree of rashness 
to refuse the offer ; if, on the other hand, he were innocent, his 
coun.sel, putting himself in the place of the prisoner, would .say, 
that no peril, however imminent, would induce him to plead 
o-uilty.” The prisoner was furfher told, that in the course of a 
trial circumstances often arose at the moment, unforeseen by all 
parties, which disclosed the truth ; that this consideration was 
in his favor if he were innocent, but showed at the same time 
that there were now chances of danger, if he were guilty, the 
extent of which could not be calculated, nor even surmised. 
The youth, with perfect self-possession, and unshaken firmness, 
replied, “ T am innocent, and will take my trial.” He did so. 
Many painful hours wore away, every moment dimlnir^hing the 
prisoner’s chance of acquittal, until it seemed "utterly extin* 


276 


THE DUTIES OF WITNESSES AND JURYMEN. 


guished, when some trifling matter which had escaped the mem 
ory of the narrator, occurred, leading him to think it was pos- 
sible that another person, who must much resemble the prisoner 
had been mistaken for him. Inquiry was instantly made of 
the family, whether they knew of any such resemblance ; when 
it appeared that the prisoner had a cousin so much like himself 
that the two were frequently accosted in the street, the one fo 
the other. The cousin had absconded. 

It is hardly credible, though doubtless true, that a family of 
respectable station could have been unaware of the importance 
of such a fact, or that the prisoner, who appeared not deficient 
in intelligence, and who was assuredly in full possession of his 
faculties, could be insensible to its value. That either he or 
they could have placed such reliance on his defence as to induce 
them to screen his guilty relative, is to the last degree improba 
ble, especially as the cousin had escaped. Witnesses, however, 
were quickly produced, who verified the resemblance between 
the two, and the counsel for the prosecution abandoned their 
case, expressing their belief that their witnesses had given their 
evidence under a mistake of identity. 

The narrator added that an alibi stood a less chance of favor- 
able reception at Nottingham than elsewhere, although in every 
place received with great jealousy. In one of the trials arising 
out of the outrages committed by the Luddites, who broke into 
manufactories and destroyed all lace frames of a construction 
which they thought oppressive to working-men, an alihi^ he said 
had been concocted, which was successful in saving the life of a 
man notoriously guilty, and which had therefore added to the dis- 
repute of this species of defence. The hypothesis was, that the 
prisoner, at the time when the crime was committed, at Lough 
borough, sixteen miles from Nottingham, was engaged at a supper 


THE DUTIES OF WITNESSES AND JORYMEN. 


277 


party at the latter place ; and the prisoner having the sympa- 
thy of a large class in his favor, whose battle he had been fight- 
ing, no difficulty was experienced by his friends in finding wild- 
nesses willing to support this hypothesis on their oaths ; but it 
would have been a rash measure to have called them into the 
box unprepared. And when it is considered how readily a pre- 
concerted story might have been destroyed by cross-examination, 
the task of preparing the witnesses so as to elude this test, was 
one requiring no ordinary care and skill. The danger would 
arise thus : — Every witness would be kept out of court, except 
the one in the box. He would be asked where he sat at the 
supper ? where the prisoner sat, and each of the other guests } 
what were the dishes, what was the course of conversation, and 
so forth — the questions being capable of multiplication ad infini- 
tum; so that however well tutored, the witnesses would inevita- 
bly contradict each other upon some matters, on which the tutor 
had not foreseen that the witness would be cross-examined, or 
to which he had forgotten the answer prescribed. The difficulty 
was, however, surmounted After the prisoner’s apprehension, 
the selected witnesses were invited to a mackerel supper, which 
took place at an hour corresponding to that at which the crime 
was committed ; and so careful was the ingenious agent who de- 
vised this conspiracy against the truth that, guided by a sure 
instinct, he fixed upon the same day of the week as that on 
which the crime had been committed, though without knowing 
how fortunate it would be for the prisoner that he took this pre- 
caution. When, on cross-examination, it was found that the wit- 
nesses agreed as to the order in which the guests were seated, 
(he contents of the dishes, the conversation which had taken 
place, and so forth — the counsel for the Crown suspected the 
plot ; but not imagining that it had been vSO perfectly elaborated^ 


278 


THE DUTIES OF WITNESSES AND JURYMEN. 


they inquired of their attorneys as to whether there was any oo 
currence peculiar to the day of the week in question, and were 
told that, upon the evening of such day, a public bell was always 
rung, which must have been heard at the supper, if it had taken 
place at the time pretended. The witnesses were separately 
called back and questioned separately as to the bell. They had 
all heard it ; and thus not only were the cross-examiners utterly 
baffled, but the cross-examination gave ten-fold support to the 
examination in chief, that is, to the evidence as given by the 
witnesses in answer to the questions put by the prisoner’s counsel 
in his behalf. The triumph of falsehood was complete. The 
prisoner was acquitted. 

When, however, the attention of prosecutors is called to the 
possibility of such fabrications they become less easy of man- 
agement. The friends of a prisoner are often known to the 
police, and may be watched — the actors may be surprised at 
the rehearsal ; a false ally may be inserted among them ; in 
short, there are many chances of the plot failing. This, however, 
is an age of improvement, and the thirty years which have 
elapsed since the days of Luddism have not been a barren 
period in any art or science. The mystery of cookery in dishes, 
accounts, and alibis^ has profited by this general advancement. 

The latest device which my acquaintance with courts has 
brought to my knowledge is an alibi of a very refined and subtle 
nature. The hypothesis is, that the prisoner was walking from 
point A to point Z, along a distant road, at the hour when the 
crime was committed. The witnesses are supposed each to see 
him, and some to converse with him, at points which may be in- 
dicated by many or all the letters of the alphabet. Each wit- 
ness must be alone when he sees him, so that no two may speak 
to what occurred at th j same spot or moment of time ; but, with 


THE DUTIES OF WITNESSES AND JURYMEN. 


279 


this reservation, each may safely indulge his imagination with 
any account of the interview which he has wit to make consist- 
ent with itself, and firmness to abide by, under the storm of a 
cross-examination. “ The force of falsehood can no farther 
go.” No rehearsal is necessary. Neither of the witnesses 
needs know of the existence of the others. The agent gives to 
each witness the name of the spot at which he is to place the 
prisoner. The witness makes himself acquainted with that spot, 
so as to stand a cross-examination as to the surrounding objects, 
and his education is complete. But as panaceas have only a 
fabulous existence, so this exquisite alibi is not applicable to all 
cases ; the witness must have a reason for being on the spot, 
plausible enough to foil the skill of the cross-examiner ; and, as 
false witnesses cann )t be found at every turn, the difficulty of 
making it accord with the probability that the witness was where 
he pretends to have been on the day and at the hour in question 
is often insuperable, to say nothing of the possibility and pro- 
bability of its being clearly established, on the part of the prose 
cution, that the prisoner could not have been there. I should 
add, that, except in towns of the first magnitude, it must be 
difficult to find mendacious witnesses who have in other respects 
the proper qualifications to prove ’ concocted alihi^ save always 
where the prisoner is the champion of a class ; and then, accord- 
ing to my experience — sad as the avowal is — the difficulty is 
greatly reduced. 

These incidents illustrate the soundness of the well-known 
proposition, that mixture of truth with falsehood, augments to 
the highest degree the noxious power of the venomous' ingredi- 
ent. That man was no mean proficient in the art of deceiving, 
who first discovered the importance of the liar being parsimoni- 
ous in mendacity The mind has a stomach as well as an eye, 


280 


THE DUTIES OF WITNESSES AND JURYMEN. 


and if the bolus be neat falsehood, it will be rejected like an 
over-dose of arsenic which does not kill. 

Let the juryman ponder these things, and beware how he lets 
his mind lapse into a conclusion either for or against the pris- 
oner. To perform the duties of his office, so that the days 
which he spends in the jury-box will bear retrospection, his eye, 
his ears, and his intellect, must be ever on the watch. A wit- 
ness in the box, and the same man in common life, are different 
creatures. Coming to give evidence, ‘‘ he doth suffer a law 
change,” Sometimes he becomes more truthful, as he ought to 
do, if any change is necessary ; but unhappily this is not always 
so, and least of all in the case of those whose testimony is often 
required. 

I remember a person, whom I frequently heard to give evi- 
dence quite out of harmony with the facts ; but I shall state 
neither his name nor his profession, A gentleman who knew 
perfectly well the unpalatable designation which his evidence 
deserved, told me of his death. T ventured to think it was a 
loss which might be borne, and touched upon his infirmity, to 
which my friend replied in perfect sincerity of heart, “ Well! 
after all, T do not think he ever told a falsehood it his life — -oul 
of th ’vit'iess'* box 




BANK-NOTE FORG SKIES. 


CHAPTER I. 

ViOTTi’s divison of violin-playing into two great cla<!ses — goo4 
playing and bad playing — is applicable to Bank-note making. 
We shall now cover a few pages with a faint outline of the 
various arts, stratagems, and contrivances employed in con 
cocting bad Bank-notes. The picture cannot be drawn with 
very distinct or strong markings. The tableaux from which 
it is copied, are so intertwisted and complicated with clever, 
slippery, ingenious scoundrelism, that a finished chart of it 
would be worse than morally displeasing — it would be tedious. 

All arts require time and experience for their development 
When anything great is to be done, first attempts are nearly 
always failures. The first Bank-note forgery was no exception 
to this rule, and its story has a spice of romance in it. The 
aflfair has never Deen circumstantially told ; but some research 
enables us to detail it : — 

In the month of August, 1757, a gentleman living in the 
neighborhood of Lincoln’s Inn Fields, named Bliss, advertised 
for a clerk. There were, as was usual at that time, many 
applicants ; but the successful one was a young man of twenty- 
six, named Richard William Vaughan. His manners were so 
winning and his demeanor so much that of a gentleman, (he 
belonged indeed to a good county family in Stafibrdshire, and 
had been a student at Pembroke Hall, Oxford,) that Mr. Bliss 
at once engaged him. Nor had he occasion, during the time 


282 


BANK-NOTE FORGERIES. 


the new clerk served him, to repent the step. Vaughan was 
so diligent, intelligent, and steady, that not even when it tran- 
spired that he was, commercially speaking, “ under a cloud,’^ 
did his master lessen confidence in him. Some inquiry into 
his antecedents showed that he had, while at College, been 
extravagant — that his friends had removed him thence — set 
him up in Stafford as a wholesale linen-draper, with a branch 
establishment in Aldersgate Street, London — that he had failed, 
and that there was some difficulty about his certificate. But 
so well did he excuse his early failings and account for his mis- 
fortunes, that his employer did not check the regard he felt 
growing towards him. Their intercourse was not merely that 
of master and servant. Vaughan was a frequent guest at 
Bliss’s table ; by-and-by a daily visitor to his wife, and — to his 
ward. 

Miss Bliss was a young lady of some attractions, not the 
smallest of which was a hansome fortune. Young Vaughan 
made the most of his opportunities. He was well-looking, well- 
informed, dressed well, and evidently made love well, for he 
won the young lady’s heart. The guardian was not flinty- 
hearted, and acted like a sensible man of the world. “ It was 
not,” he said, on a subsequent and painful occasion, “ till I 
learned from the servants and observed by the girl’s behavior, 
that she greatly approved Richard Vaughan, that I consented ; 
but on condition that he should make it appear that he could 
maintain her. I had no doubt of his character as a servant, 
and I knew his family were respectable. His brother is an 
eminent attorney.” Vaughan boasted that his mother (his 
father was dead) was willing to re-instat ‘ him in business with 
a thousand pounds — five hundred of which was to be settled 
upon Miss Bliss for her separate use. 


BANK-NOTE FORGERIES. 


283 


So far all went on prosperously. Providing Richard Vaughan 
could attain a position satisfactory to the Blisses, the marriage 
was to take place on the Easter Monday following, which, the 
Calendar tells us, happened early in April, 1758. With this 
understanding, he left Mr. Bliss’s service, to push his fortune. 

Months passed on, and Vaughan appears to have made no 
way in the world. He had not even obtained his bankrupt’s 
certificate. His visits to his affianced were frequent, and his 
protestations passionate ; but he had effected nothing substantial 
towards a happy union. Miss Bliss’s guardian grew impatient ; 
and, although there is no evidence to prove that the young 
lady’s affection for Vaughan was otherwise than deep and 
sincere, yet even she began to lose confidence in him. His 
excuses were evidently evasive, and not always true. The 
time fixed for the wedding was fast approaching; and Vaughan 
saw that something must be done to restore the young lady’s 
confidence. 

About three weeks before the appointed Easter Tuesday, 
Vaughan went to his mistress in high spirits. All was right — 
his certificate was to be granted in a day or two — his family 
had come forward with the money, and he was to continue the 
Aldersgate business he had previously carried on as a branch of 
the Stafford trade. The capital he had waited so long for, was 
at length forthcoming. In fact, here were two hundred and 
forty pounds of the five hundred he was to settle on his beloved. 
Vaughan then produced twelve twenty -pound notes; Miss Bliss 
ould scarcely believe her ej'^s. She examJAed them. The 
paper, she remarked, seemed thicker than useal. “Oh/ said 
Bliss, “all Bank bills are not alike.” The was naturally 
much pleased. She would hasten to apprii i' Xlstresp Bliss 
of the good news. 


4 


BANK-NOTE FORGERIES 


Not for the world ! So far from letting any living soul 
know he had placed so much money in her' hands, Vaughan 
exacted an oath of secresy from her, and sealed the notes up in 
a pareel with his own seal — making her swear that she would 
on no account open it till after their marriage. 

Some days after, that is, “ on the twenty-second of March,” 
(1758) we are describing the scene in Mr. Bliss’s own words — 
“ I was sitting with my wife by the fireside. The prisoner and 
the girl were sitting in the same room — which was a small one— 
and although they whispered, I could distinguish that Vaughan 
was very urgent to have something returned which he had pre- 
viously given to her. She refused, and Vaughan went away 
in an angry mood. I then studied the girl’s face, and saw that 
it expressed much dissatisfaction. Presently a tear broke out. 
I then spoke, and insisted on knowing the dispute. She re- 
fused to tell, and I told her that until she did, I would not 
see her. The next day I asked the same question of Vaughan 
— he hesitated. ‘ Oh ’ T said, ‘ I dare say it is some ten or 
twelve pound matter — something to buy a wedding bauble 
with.’ He answered that it was much more than that — it was 
near three hundred pounds ! ‘ But why all this secrecy P I 

said ; and he answered that it was not proper for people to 
know that he had so much money till his certificate was signed. 
I then asked him to what intent he had left the notes with 
the young lady ? He said, as I had of late suspected h‘m, he 
designed to give her a proof of his affection and truth. I 
said, ‘ You have demanded them in such a way that it must 
be construed as an abatement of your affection towards her.’” 
Vaughan was again exceedingly urgent in asking back the 
packet ; but Bliss remembering his many evasions, and suppos- 
ing that this was a trick, declined advising his niece to restore 


BANK-NOTE FORGERIES. 


285 


the parcel without proper consideration. The very n«.xt day it 
was discovered that the notes were counterfeits. 

This occasioned stricter inquiries into Vaughan’s previous 
career. It turned out that he bore the character in his native 
place of a dissipated and not very scrupulous person. The 
intention of his mother to assist him was an entire fabrication, 
and he had given Miss Bliss the forged notes solely for the 
purpose of deceiving her on that matter. Meanwhile the for- 
geries became known to the authorities, and he was arrested. 
By what means, does not clearly appear. The Annual 
Register” says, that one of the engravers gave information ; 
but we find nothing in the newspapers of the time to support 
that statement ; neither was it corroborated at Vaughan’s trial. 

When Vaughan was arrested, he thrust a piece of paper into 
his mouth, and began to chew it violently. It was, however, 
rescued, and proved to be one of the forged notes ; fourteen 
of them were found on his person, and when his lodgings were 
searched twenty more were discovered. 

Vaughan was tried at the Old Bailey on the seventh of 
April, before Lord Mansfield. The manner of the forgery 
was detailed minutely at the trial : — On the first of March, 
(about a week before he gave the twelve notes to the young 
lady,) Vaughan called on Mr. John Corbould, an engraver, and 
gave an order for a promissory note to be eugraved with these 
words : — 

“ No. . 

“ I promise to pay to , or Bearer, 

London 

There was to be a Britannia in the corner. When it was 
done, Mr. Sneed (for that was the alias Vaughan adopted/ 


286 


BANK-NOTE FORGERIES 


came again, but objected to the execution of* the work. The 
Britannia was not good, and the words “ I promise” were too 
near the edge of the plate. Another was in consequence 
engraved, and on the fourth of March, Vaughan took it away. 
He immediately repaired to a printer, and had forty-eight im- 
pressions taken on thin paper, provided by himself. Mean- 
while, he had ordered, on the same morning, of Mr. Charlea 
Fourdrinier, another engraver, a second plate, with what he 
called “ a direction,” in the words, “ For the Grovernor and 
Company of the Bank of England.” This was done, and about 
a week later he brought some paper, each sheet “ folded up,” 
said the witness, “ very curiously, so that I could not see what 
was in them. I was going to take the papers from him, but 
he said he must go upstairs with me, and see them worked 
off himself. I took him up-stairs ; he would not let me have 
them out of his hands. I took a sponge and wetted them, 
and put them one by one on the plate in order for printing 
them. After my boy had done two or three of them, I went 
down-stairs, and my boy worked the rest off,' and the prisoner 
came down and paid me.” 

Here the Court pertinently asked, ‘‘ What imagination had 
you when a man thus came to you to print on secret paper, 
‘ the Grovernor and Company of the Bank of England P ” 

The engraver’s reply was : — “ I then did not suspect any- 
thing ; but I shall take care for the future.” As this was the 
first Bank-of-England-note forgery that was ever perpetrated, 
the engraver was held exeused. 

It may be mentioned, as an evidence of the delicacy of the 
reporters, that in their account of the trial. Miss Bliss’s namo 
is not mentioned. Her designation is “a young lady.” Wo 
subjoin the notes of her evidence ; — 


BANK-NOTE FORGERIES. 


287 


“A young lady (sworn). The prisoner deliveied me some 
bills ; these are the same (producing twelve com terfeit Banh 
notes sealed up in a cover, for twenty pounds each-') said 
they were Bank bills. I said they were thicker paper — he 
said all bills are not alike. I was to keep them till after we 
were married. He put them into my hands to show he put 
confidence in me, and desired me not to show them to anybody; 
sealed them up with his own seal, and obliged me by an 
oath not to discover them to anybody, and I did not till he 
discovered them hiri^self ; he was to settle so much in Stock 
on me.” 

Vaughan urged in his defence that his sole object was to 
deceive his affianced, and that he intended to destroy all the 
notes after his marriage. But it had been proved that the 
prisoner had asked one John Ballingar to change first one, and 
then twenty of the notes ; but which that person was unable to 
do. Besides, had his sole object been to dazzle Miss Bliss 
wiili his fictitious wealth, he would most probably have intrusted 
more, if not all the notts, to her keeping. 

He was found guilty, and passed the day that had been fixed 
for his wedding, as a condemned criminal. 

On the 11th May, 1758, Richard William Vaughan was 
executed at Tyburn. By his side, on the same gallows, there 
was another forger — William Boodgere, a milite,ry officer, who 
had forged a draught on an army-agent named Calcroft, and 
expiated the offence with the first forger of Bank-of-England 
notes. 

The gallows may seem hard measure to have meted out to 
Vaughan, when it is considered that none of his notes were 
negotiated and no person suffered by his fraud. Not one of the 
forty-eight notes, except the twelve delivered to Miss Bliss, had 


288 


BANK-NOTE FORGERIES. 


been out of his possession ; indeed the imitation must have 
been very clumsily executed, and detection would have instantly 
followed any attempt to pass the counterfeits. There was no 
endeavor to copy the style of engraving on a real Bank note. 
That was left to the engraver ; and as each sheet passed 
through the press twice, the words added at the second printing, 
“ For the Grovernor and Company of the Bank of England,” 
could have fallen into their proper place on any one of the 
sheets, only by a miracle. But what would have made the 
forgery clear to even a superficial observer, was the singular 
omission of the second ‘‘n” in the word England.* 

The criticism on Vaughan’s note of a Bank clerk examined 
on the trial was — “ There is some resemblance to be sure ; but 
this note” (that upon which the prisoner was tried) “ is num- 
bered thirteen thousand eight hundred and forty, and we never 
reach so high a number.” Besides, there was no water-mark 
in the paper. The note, of which a fac-simile appeared in our 
eighteenth number, and dated so early as 1699, has a regular 
design in the texture of the paper, showing that the water- 
mark is as old as the Bank notes themselves. 

Vaughan was greatly commiserated. But despite the unskill- 
fulness of the forgery, and the insignificant consequences which 
followed it, the crime was considered of too dangerous a charac- 
ter not to be marked, from its very novelty, with exemplary 
punishment. Hanging created at that time no remorse in the 
public mind, and it was thought necessary to set up Vaughan 
as a warning to all future Bank-note forgers. The crime wa 
too dangerous not to be marked with the severest penalties 


♦ Bad orthography was by no means uncommon in the most important docu 
nients at that period ; the days of the week, in the by-books of the Bank oJ 
England itself, are spelt in a variety of ways. 


BANK-NOTE FORGERIES 


289 


Forgery differs from other crimes not less in the magnitude of 
the spoil it may obtain and of the injury it inflicts, than in the 
facilities attending its accomplishment. The common thief 
finds a limit to his depredations in the bulkiness of his booty, 
which is generally confined to such property as he can carry 
about his person ; the swindler raises insuperable and defeating 
obstacles to his frauds if the amount he seeks to obtain is so 
considerable as to awaken close vigilance or inquiry. To carry 
their projects to any very profitable extent, these criminals are 
reduced to the hazardous necessity of acting in concert, and thus 
infinitely increasing the risks of detection. But the forger need 
have no accomplice — he is burdened with no bulky and suspi- 
cious property — he needs no receiver to assist his contrivances. 
The skill of his own individual right-hand can command thou- 
sands — often with the certainty of not being detected, and of- 
tener with such rapidity as to enable him to baffle the pursuit of 
justice. 

It was a long time before Vaughan’s rude attempt was im- 
proved upon; but in the same year, (1758,) another depart- 
ment of the crime was commenced with perfect success, namely, 
an ingenious alteration, for fraudulent purposes, of real Bank 
notes. A few months after Vaughan’s execution, one of the 
northern mails was stopped and robbed by a highwayman ; 
several Bank notes were comprised in the spoil, and the robber, 
setting up with these as a gentleman, went boldly to the Hat- 
field Post-office, ordered a chaise-and-four, rattled away down 
the road, and changed a note at every change of horses. The 
robbery was of course soon made known, and the numbers and 
dates of the stolen notes were advertised as having been stopped 
at the Bank. To the genius of a highwayman this offered but 
* R small obstacle, and the gentleman-thief changed all the fig 
19 


290 


BANK-NOTE FORGERIES. 


ures “ 1” he could find, into “ 4’s.” These notes passed cur- 
rently enough ; but on reaching the Bank, the alteration was 
detected, and the last holder was refused payment. As that 
person had given a valuable consideration for the note, he 
brought an action for the recovery of the amount ; and at the 
trial it was ruled by the Lord Chief Justice, that “ any person 
paying a valuable consideration for a Bank note, payable to 
bearer, in a fair course of business, has an understood-right to 
receive the money of the Bank.” 

It took a quarter of a century to bring the art of forging 
Bank notes to perfection. In 1779, this was nearly attained 
by an ingenious gentleman named Mathison, a watch-iii..uer, 
fi'om the matrimonial village of Grretna Green. Having learnt 
the arts of engraving and of simulating signatures, he tried his 
hand at the no-tes of the Darlington Bank ; but, with the con- 
fidence of skill, was not cautious in passing them, was suspected 
and absconded to Edinburgh. Scorning to let his talent be 
wasted, he favored the Scottish public with many spurious Boyal 
Bank-of-Scotland notes, and regularly forged his way by their 
aid to London. At the end of February he took handsome 
lodgings in the Strand, opposite Arundel Street. His industry 
was remarkable ; for, by the 12th of March, he had planned and 
polished rough pieces of copper, engraved them, forged the 
water-mark, printed, and negotiated several impressions. His 
plan was to travel and to purchase articles in shops. He bought 
a pair of shoe-buckles at Coventry with a forged note, which was 
ventually detected at the Bank of England. He had got so 
Dold that he paid such frequent visits in Threadneedle Street 
that the Bank clerks became familiar with his person. He was 
continually changing notes of one for another denomination. 
These were his originals, wliich he procured to make spurious 


BANK-NOTE FORGERIES. 


291 


♦ 

copies of. One day seven thousand pounds came in from the 
Stamp Office. There was a dispute about one of the notes. 
Mathison, who was present, though at some distance, declared, 
oracularly, that the note was a good one. How could he know 
so well ' A dawn of suspicion arose in the minds of the clerks ; 
one trail led into another, and Mathison was finally apprehended. 
So well were his notes forged, that, on the trial, an experienced 
Bank clerk declared he could not tell whether the note handed 
him to examine, was forged or not. Mathison offered to reveal 
his secret of forging the water-mark, if mercy were shown to 
him ; this was refused, and he suffered the penalty of his 
crime. 

Mathison was a genius in his criminal way, but a greater 
thar. ‘jo -ppeared in 1786. In that year perfection seemed to 
have been reached. So considerable was the circulation of 
spurious paper-money that it appeared as if some unknown 
power had set up a bank of its own. Notes were issued from 
it, and readily passed current, in hundreds and thousands. They 
were not to be distinguished from the genuine paper of Thread- 
needle Street. Indeed, when one was presented there, in due 
course, so complete were all its parts, so masterly the engraving, 
so correct the signatures, so skillful the water-mark, that it was 
promptly paid, and only discovered to be a forgery when it 
reached a particular department. From that period forged pa- 
per continued to be presented, especially at the time of lottery- 
drawing. Consultations were held with the police. Plans 
were laid to help detection. Every effort was made to trace 
the forger. Clarke, the best detective of his day, went like a 
sluth-hound, on the track ; for in those days the expressive 
word “ blood-money” was known. Up to a certain point there 
was little difficulty ; but beyond that, consummate art defied thu 


292 


BANK-NO IE FORGERIES. 


ingenuity of the officer. In whatever way the notes Cauie, the 
train of discovery always paused at the lottery-offices. Adver- 
tisements offering large rewards were circulated; but the un- 
known forger baffled detection. 

While this base paper was in full currency, there appeared 
an advertisement in the Daily Advertiser for a servant. The 
successful applicant was a young man, in the employment of a 
musical-instrument maker, who, some time after, was called 
■*ip<>r: by a coachman, and informed that the advertiser was wait- 
ing iL a coach to see him. The young man was desired to en- 
ter the conveyance, where he beheld a person with something of 
the appearance of a foreigner, sixty or seventy years old, ap- 
parently troubled with the gout. A camlet surtout was buttoned 
round his mouth, a large patch was placed over his left eye, 
and nearly every part of his face was concealed. He affected 
much infirmity. He had a faint hectic cough , and invariably 
presented the patched side to the view of the servant. After 
some conversation — in the course of which lie represented him- 
self as guardian to a young nobleman of great fortune — the 
interview concluded with the engagement of the applicant, and 
the new servant was directed to call on Mr. Brank, at 29 
Titchfield Street, Oxford Street. At this interview Brank in- 
veighed against his whimsical ward for his love of speculating in 
lottery tickets, and told the servant that his principal duty 
would be to purchase them. After one or two meetings, at 
each of which Brank kept his face muffled, he handed a forty 
and twenty pound Bank note ; told the servant to be very care 
ful not to lose them, and directed him to buy lottery-tickets at 
separate offices. The young man fulfilled his instructions, and 
at the momenl; he was returning, was suddenly called by hh 
employer from the other sidt* of the street, congratulated on hk 


BANK-NOTE F RGERIE8. 293 

1 

rapidity, an<L then told to go to various other offices in the 
neighborhood of the Royal Exchange, and to purchase more 
shares. Four hundred pounds iu Bauk-of-England notes were 
handed him, and the wishes of the mysterious Mr. Brank were 
satisfactorily effected. These scenes were continually enacted. 
Notes to a large amount were thus circulated, lottery tickets 
purchased, and Mr. Brank — always in a coach, with his face 
studiously concealed — was ever ready on the spot to receive 
them. The surprise of the servant was somewhat excited ; but 
had he known that from the period he left his master to pur- 
chase the ticl^ets, one female figure accompanied all his move- 
ments, that, when he entered the offices, it waited at the door, 
peered cautiously in at the window, hovered round him like a 
second shadow, watched him carefully, and never left him until 
once more he was in the company of his employer — that surprise 
would have been greatly increased.* Again and again were 
these extraordinary scenes rehearsed. At last the Bank ob- 
tained a clue, and the servant was taken into custody. The 
directors imagined that they had secured the actor of so many 
parts, that the flood of forged notes which had inundated that 
establishment would at length be dammed up at his source. 
Their hopes proved fallacious, and it was found that ‘‘ Old 
Patch” (as the mysterious forger was, from the servant’s de- 
scription, nick-named,) had been snfficiently clever to baffle the 
Bank directors. The house in Titchfield street was searched ; 
but Mr. Brank had deserted it, and not a tra e of a single im- 
plement of forgery was to be seen. 

All that could be obtained was some little knowledge of 
“ Old Patch’s” proceedings. It appeared that he carried on 
his paper-coining entirely by himself. His only confidant wai 

* Francis’s History of the Bank of England. 


294 


V 

BANK-NOTE F RGERIEft. 


Ills mistress He was his own engraver. He even made his 
own ink. He manufactured his own paper. With a private 
press he worked his own notes, and counterfeited the signatures 
of the cashiers, completely. But these discoveries had no ef 
feet, for it became evident that Mr. Patch had set up a press 
elsewhere. Although his secret continued as impenetrable, his 
notes became as plentiful as ever. Five years of unbounded 
prosperity ought to have sstisfied him — but it did not. Success 
seemed to pall him. His genius was of that insatiable order 
which demands new excitements, and a constant sucession of 
new flights. The ibllowing paragraph from a newspaper of 
1786, relates to the same individual : — 

“ On the 17th of December, ten pounds was paid into the 
Bank, for which the clerk, as usual, gave a ticket to receive a 
Bank note of equal value. This ticket ought to have been 
carried immediately to the cashier, instead of which the bearer 
took it home, and curiously added an 0 to the original sum, and 
returning, presented it so altered to the cashier, for which he 
received a note of one hundred pounds. In the evening, the 
clerks found a deficiency in the accounts, and on examining the 
tickets of the day, not only that but two others were discovered 
to have been obtained in the same manner. In one, the figure 
1 was altered to 4, and in another to 5, by which the artist re- 
ceived, upon the whole, nearly one thousand pounds.” 

To that princely felony. Old Patch, as will be seen in the 
sequel, added smaller misdemeanors which one would think were 
far beneath his notice, except to convince himself and his mis- 
tress of the unbounded facility of his genius for fraud. 

At that period the affluent public were saddled with a tax ol 
plate, and many experiments were made to evade it. Among 
others one was invented by a Mr. Charles Price, a stock-jobber 


BANK-NOTE FORGERIES. 


295 


♦ 


and lottery-office keeper, which, for a time, puzzled the tax- 
gatherer. Mr. Charles Price lived in great style, gave splendid 
dinners, and did everything on the grandest scale. Yet Mr. 
Charles Price had no plate ! The authorities could not find so 
much as a silver tooth-pick on his magnificent premises. In 
truth, what he was too cunning to possess, he borrowed. For 
one of his sumptuous entertainments, he hired the plate of a 
silversmith in Cornhill, and left the value in bank notes as se- 
curity for its safe return. One of these notes having proved a 
forgery, was traced to Mr. Charles Price ; and Mr Charles 
Price was not to be found at that particular juncture. Al- 
though this excited no surprise — for he was often an absen- 
tee from his office for short periods — yet, in due course and as 
a formal matter of business, an officer was sent to find him, 
and to ask his explanation regarding the false notes. Af- 
ter tracing a man whom he had a strong notion was Mr. 
Charles Price, through countless lodgings and innumerable dis- 
guises, the officer (to use his own expression) “ nabbed” Mr. 
Charles Price. But, as Mr. Clark observed, his prisoner and 
his prisoner’s lady were even then “ too many” for him ; for 
iilthough he lost not a moment in trying to secure the forging 
implements, after he had discovered that Mr. Charles Price, 
and Mr. Brank, and Old Patch, were all concentrated in the 
person of his prisoner, he found the lady had destroyed every 
trace of evidence. Not a vestige of the forging factory was left ; 
not the point of a graver, nor a single spot of ink, nor a shred 
of silver paper, nor a scrap of anybody’s handwriting, was to be 
met with. Despite, however, this paucity of evidence to con- 
vict him, Mr. Charles Price had not the courage to face a jury, 
and eventually he saved the judicature and the Tyburn executive 
much trouble aiid expense, by hanging himself in Bridewell. 


296 


BANK-NOTE FOROERIEB. 


The success of Mr. Charles Price has never been surpassed 
and even after the darkest era in the history of Bank forgeries— 
which dates from the suspension of cash payments, in February, 
1797, and which will be treated of in the succeeding chapter — 
“ Old Patch” was still remembered as the Caesar of Forgers 


CHAPTER II. 

In the historj of crime, as in all other histories, there is one 
great epoch by wnich minor dates are arranged and defined. In 
a list of remarkable events, one remarkable event more remark' 
able than the last, is the standard around which all smaller cir- 
cumstances are grouped. Whatever happens in Mohammedan 
annals, is set down as having occurred so many years after the 
flight of the Prophet ; in the records of London commerce a 
great fraud or a great failure is mentioned as having come to 
light so many months after the flight of Rowland Stephenson. 
Sporting men date from remarkable struggles for the Derby 
prize, and refer to 1840, as “Bloomsbury’s year.” The high- 
wayman of old dated from Dick Turpin’s last appearance on the 
fatal stage at Tyburn turnpike. In like manner, the standard 
epoch in the annals of Bank-Note Forgery, is the year 1797, 
when (on the 25th of February) one-pound notes were put into 
circulation instead of golden guineas ; or, to use the City idiom, 
‘ cash payments were suspended.” 

At that time the Bank-of-England note was no better in ap- 
pearance — had not improved as a work of art — since the days 
of Vaughan, Mathison, and Old Patch ; it was just as easily 
imitated, and the chances of the successful circulati)n of coun- 
terfeits were increased a thousand-fold. 


BANK-NOTE FCRGERIE8. 


297 


Up to 1793 no notes had been issued even for sums so small 
as five pounds. Consequently all the Bank paper then in use, 
passed through the hands and under the eyes of the affluent and 
educated, who could more readily distinguish the false from the 
true. Hence, during the fourteen years which preceded the 
non-golden and small-note era, there were only three capital 
convictions for the crime. When, however, the Bank-of-Eng- 
land notes became “ common and popular,” a prodigious 
quantity — to complete the quotation — was also made “ base,” 
and many persons were hanged for concocting them. 

To a vast number of the humbler orders. Bank Notes were a 
rarity and a “ sight.” Many had never seen such a thing before 
they were called upon to take one or two-pound notes in ex- 
change for small merchandise, or their own labor. How were 
they to judge ? How were they to tell a good from a spurious 
note ? — especially when it happened that the officers of the 
Bank themselves, were occasionally mistaken, so complete and 
perfect were the imitations then afloat. There cannot be much 
doubt that where one graphic rascal was found out, ten escaped. 
They snapped their fingers at the executioner, and went on en- 
joying their beef-steaks and porter — their winter treats to the 
play — their summer excursions to the suburban tea-gardens— 
their fashionable lounges at Tunbridge Wells, Bath, Margate, 
and Ramsgate — doing business with wonderful unconcern, and 
“ face” all along their journeys. These usually expensive, but 
to them profitable enjoyments, were continually coming to light 
at the trials of the lesser rogues who undertook the issue depart- 
ment ; for, from the ease with which close imitation was effected, 
the manufacture was more readily completed than the uttering. 
The fraternity and sisterhood of utterers played many parts, 
tnd were banded in strict compact with the forgers. Some 


21)8 


bank-note FORGEKtES. 


were turned loose into fairs and markets, in all sorts of appro- 
priate disguises. Farmers, who could hardly distinguish a field 
of standing wheat from a field of barley — butchers, who never 
wielded more deadly weapons than two-prong forks — country 
boys, with cockney accents, bought gingerbread, and treated 
their so-called sweethearts with ribbons and muslins, all b;^ the 
interchange of false “flimseys.” The better-mannered dis- 
guised themselves as ladies and gentlemen, paid their losings at 
cards or hazard, or their tavern bills, their milliners, and coach- 
makers, in motley money, composed of part real and part base 
bank paper. Some went about in the cloak of the Samaritan, 
and generously subscribed to charities wherever they saw a 
chance of changing a bad “ five” for three or four good “ ones.” 
Ladies of sweet disposition went about doing good among the 
poor — personally inquired into distress, relieved it by sending 
out a daughter or a son to a neighboring shop for change, and 
left five shillings for present necessities, walking off* with fifteen. 
So openly — in spite of the gallows — was forgery carried on, that 
whoever chose to turn utter er found no difficulty in getting a 
stock-in-trade to commence with. Indeed, in the days of high- 
waymen, no traveling-gentleman’s pocket or valise was consid- 
ered properly furnished without a few forged notes wherewith to 
satisfy the demands of the members of the “ High Toby.” 
This offence against the laws of the road, however, soon became 
too common, and wayfarers who were stopped and rifled, had to 
pledge their sacred words of honor that their notes were the 
genuine promises of Abraham Newland, and that their watches 
were not of the factory of Mr. Pinchbeck. 

With temptations so strong, it is no wonder that the forgers* 
trade flourished with only an occasional check from the strong 
arm of the law. It folk wed therefore, that from the issue of 


BANK-NOTE FORGERIES. 


299 


♦ 


small notes in February, 1797, to the end of 1817— twenty 
years — there were no fewer than eight hundred and seventy 
prosecutions connected with Bank-Note Forgery, in which there 
were only one hundred and sixty acquittals, and upwards of 
three hundred executions ! 1818 was the culminating poin 

of the crime. In the first three months there were no fewer 
han one hundred and twenty-eight prosecutions by the Bank ; 
and by the end of that year, two-and-thirty individuals had 
been hanged for Note Forgery. So far from this appalling 
series of examples having any efiect in checking the progress of 
the crime, it is proved that at, and after that very time, base 
notes were poured into the Bank at the rate of a hundred a 
day ! 

The enormous number of undetected forgeries afloat, may be 
estimated by the fact, that from the 1st of January, 1812, to 
the 10th April, 1818, one hundred and thirty-one thousand three 
hundred and thirty-one pieces of paper were ornamented by the 
Bank ofl&cers with the word “ Forged” — upwards of one hun- 
dred and seven thousand of them were one-pound counterfeits 

Intrinsically, it would appear from an Hibernian view of the 
case, then, that bad notes were nearly as good, (except not 
merely having been manufactured at the Bank,) as good ones. 
So thoroughly and completely did some of them resemble the 
authorized engraving of the Bank, that it was next to impossible 
to distinguish the false from the true. Countless instances, 
showing rather the skill of the forger than the want of vigilance 
in Bank officials, could be brought forward. Respectable per- 
sons were constantly taken into custody on a charge of uttering 
forgeries, imprisoned for days and then liberated. A close scru- 
tiny proving that the accusations were made upon genuine 
paper In September^ 1818 Mr A. Burnett, <?f Portsmouth 


300 


BANK-NOTE FORGERIES 


had the satisfaction of having a note which had passed through 
his hands, returned to him from the Bank of England, with the 
base mark upon it. Satisfied of its genuineness, he re-inclosed 
it to the cashier, and demanded its payment. By return of 
post he received the following letter : — 

“ Bank of England^ 16 Sept.^ 1818. 

“ Sir, — I have to acknowledge your letter to Mr. Hase, of 
the 13th inst., inclosing a one-pound note, and, in answer there- 
to, I beg leave to acquaint you, that on inspection it appears to 
be a genuine Note of the Bank of England ; I therefore, agree- 
ably to your request, inclose you one of the like value. No. 26, 
276, dated 22nd August, 1818. 

“ I am exceedingly sorry, sir, that such an unusual oversight 
should have occurred to give you so much trouble, which 1 trust 
your candor will induce you to excuse when I assure you that 
the unfortunate mistake has arisen entirely out of the hurry and 
‘ multiplicity of business. “ I am, sir, 

“ Your most obedient servant, 

“ J. RIPPON. 

“ A. Burnett, Esq. 

“ 7 Belle Vue Terrace. 

“ Southsea, near Portsmouth.” 

A more extraordinary case is on record : — A note was traced 
to the possession of a’tradesman, which had been pronounced by 
the Bank Inspectors to have been forged. The man would not 
give it up, and was taken before a magistrate, charged with 
“ having a note in his possession, well knowing it to be forged.’ 
He was committed to prison on evidence of the Bank Inspector, 
out was afterwards released on bail to appear when called on. 
He was no!: call.id on ; and, at the expiration of twelve months, 
having 'lept the note all that time,) he brought an action 


Bank-note forgeries. 


301 




against the Bank for false imprisonment. On the trial the note 
was proved to be genuine ! and the plaintiff was awarded dam- 
ages of one hundred pounds. 

It is a fact sufficiently dreadful that three hundred and thirty 
human lives should have been sacrificed in twenty-one years ; 
but when we relate a circumstance which admits the merest 
probability that some — even one — of those lives may have been 
sacrificed in innocence of the offence for which they suffered, the 
consideration becomes appalling. 

Some time after the frequency of the crime had in other re- 
spects subsided, there was a sort of bloody assize at Haverford- 
west, in Wales ; several prisoners were tried for forging and ut- 
tering, and thirteen were convicted — chiefly on the evidence of 
Mr. Christmas, a Bank Inspector, who swore positively, in one 
case, that the document named in the indictment, ‘‘ was not an 
impression from a Bank-of-England plate — was not printed on 
the paper with the ink or water-mark of the Bank — neither was 
it in the handwriting of the signing clerk.” Upon this testimony 
the prisoner, together with twelve participators in similar crimes, 
were condemned to be hanged ! 

The morning after the trial, Mr. Christmas was leaving his 
lodging, when an acquaintance stepped up and asked him, as a 
friend, to give his opinion on a note he had that morning re- 
ceived. It was a bright day ; Mr. Christmas put on his specta- 
cles, and carefully scrutinized the document in a business-like 
and leisurely manner. He pronounced it to be forged. Th 
gentleman, a little chagrined, brought it away with him to town 
It is not a little singular that he happened to know Mr. Burnett, 
of Portsmouth, whom he accidentally met, and to whom he 
showed the note. Mr. Burnett wa.s evidently a capital judge 
^f bank paper. He said nothing, but slipping his hand into onu 


802 


bank-note forgeries. 


pocket, handed to the astonished gentleman full change, and 
put the note into another. “It cannot be a good note,” ex- 
claimed the latter, “ for my friend Christmas told me at Haver- 
fordwest that it is a forgery !” But as Mr. Burnett had backea 
his opinion to the amount of twenty shillings, he declined to re- 
tract it ; and lost no time in writing to Mr. Henry Hase (Abra- 
ham Newland’s successor) to test its accuracy. 

It was lucky that he did so ; for this little circumstance saved 
thirteen lives ! 

Mr. Christmas’s co-inspectors at the Bank of England actu- 
ally reversed his non-official judgment that the note was a for- 
gery. It was officially pronounced to be a good note ; yet upon 
the evidence of Mr. Christmas as regards other notes, the thir- 
teen human beings at Haverfordwest were trembling at the foot 
of the gallows. It was promptly and cogently argued that as 
Mr. Christmas’s judgment had failed him in the deliberate ex- 
amination of one note, it might also err as to others, and the 
convicts were respited. 

The converse of this sort of mistake often happened. Bad 
notes were pronounced to be genuine by the Bank. Early in 
January, IS 18, a well-dressed woman entered the shop of Mr. 
James Hammond, of 40 Bishopsgate Street Without, and 
having purchased three pounds worth of goods, tendered in pay- 
ment a ten-pound note. There was something hesitating and 
odd in her manner ; and, although Mr. Hammond could see 
nothing the matter with the note, yet he was ungallant enough 
to suspect — from the uncomfortable demeanor of his customer— 
that all was not right. He hoped she was not in a hurry, foi 
he had no change ; he must send to a neighbor for it. He im 
mediately dispatched his shopman to the most affluent of all his 
aeighhors — to her of Threadneedle Street. The delay occa 


BANK-NOTE FORGERIES. 303 

J 

sioned tbe lady to remark, “ I suppose he is gone to the Bank !’' 
Mr. Hammond having answered in the affirmative, engaged his 
customer in conversation, and they freely discussed the current 
topics of the day ^ till the young man returned with ten one pound 
Bank-of-England Notes. Mr. Hammond felt a little remorse 
at having suspected his patroness, who departed with the pur- 
chases with the utmost dispatch. She had not been gone half 
an hour before two gentlemen rushed into the shop in a state of 
grievous chagrin ; one was the Bank clerk who had changed the 
note. He begged Mr. Hammond would be good enough to give 
him another for it. “ Why asked the puzzled shopkeeper. 
“ Why, sir,” replied the distressed clerk, “ it is forged !” Of 
course his request was not complied with. The clerk declared 
that his dismissal was highly probable ; but Mr. Hammond was 
inexorable. 

The arguments in favor of death-punishments never fail so 
signally as when brought to the test of the scaffold and its effect 
on Bank forgeries. When these were most numerous, although 
from twenty to thirty persons were put to death in one year, the 
gallows was never deprived of an equal share of prey during the 
next. As long as simulated notes could be passed with ease, 
and detected with difficulty, the Old Bailey had no terrors for 
clever engravers and dexterous imitators of the hieroglyphic au- 
tographs of the Bank-of-England signers. 

At length public alarm at the prevalence of forgaies, and thi 
difficulty of knowing them as such, arose to the height of de- 
manding some sort of relief. In 1819 a committee was ap- 
pointed by the Grovernment to inquire into the best means of 
prevention. One hundred and eighty projects were submitted. 
They mostly consisted of intricate designs such as rendered 
great expense necessary to imitate. But none were adopted 


BANK-NOTE FORGERIES 


t>o4 


for the obvious reason that ever so indifferent and eatily exe- 
euted imitation of an elaborate note is quite sufficient to deceive 
an uneducated eye, as had been abundantly proved in the in- 
stance of the Irish “ black note.” The Bank had not been in- 
different or idle on the subject, for it had spent some hundred 
thousand pounds in projects for inimitable notes. At last — not 
long before the Commission was appointed — they were on the 
eve of adopting an ingenious and costly mechanism for printing 
a note so precisely alike on both sides as to appear as one im- 
pression, when one of the Bank printers imitated it exactly by 
the simple contrivance of two plates and a hinge. This may 
serve as a sample of the other one hundred and seventy-nine 
projects. 

Neither the gallows nor expensive and elaborate works of art 
having been found effectual in preventing forgery, the true ex- 
pedient for at least lessening the crime was adopted in 1821 : — 
the issue of small notes was wholly discontinued, and sovereigns 
were brought into circulation. The forger’s trade was nearly 
annihilated. Criminal returns inform us that during the nine 
years after the resumption of gold currency the number of con- 
victions for offences having refei.nce to the Bank-of-England 
notes were less than one hundred, and the executions only eight. 
This clinches the argument against the efficacy of the gallows. 
In 1830 death-punishments were repealed for all minor offences, 
and, although the cases of Bank-Note Forgeries slightly in- 
creased for a time, yet there is no reason to suppose that they 
are greater now than they were between 1821 and 1830. 

At present. Bank-paper forgeries are not numerous. One 
of the latest was that of the twenty-pound note, of which about 
sixty specimens found their way into the Bank. It was weD 
executed in Belgium by foreigners, and the impressions were 


BANK-NOTE FORGERIES. 


30o 


%_ 

passed among the Change-agents in various towns in France and 
the Netherlands. The speculation did not succeed ; for the 
notes got into, and were detected at the Bank, a little too soon 
to profit the schemers much. 

The most considerable frauds now perpetrated are not for- 
geries ; but are done upon the plan of the highwayman men- 
tioned in our first chapter. ^ In order to give currency to stolen 
or lost notes which have been stopped at the Bank, (lists of 
which are supplied to every banker in the country,) the num- 
bers and dates are fraudulently altered. Some years since, a 
gentleman, who had been receiving a large sum of money \t 
the Bank, was robbed of it in an omnibus. The notes gradually 
came in, but all were altered. The last was one for five hun- 
dred pounds, dated the 12th March, 1846, and numbered 
3210!^. On the Monday (3rd June) after the last “Derby 
Day,^’ amid the twenty-five, thousand pieces of paper that 
were examined by the Bank Inspectors, there was one note 
for five hundred pounds, dated 12th March, 1848, and numbered 
32409. At that note an inspector suddenly arrested his rapid 
examination of the pile of which it was one. He scrutinized it 
for a minute, and pronounced it “ altered.” On the next day, 
that same note, with a perfect one for five hundred pounds, is 
shown to us with an intimation of the fact. We look at every 
letter — we trace every line — follow every flourish ; we hold both 
up to the light — we undulate our visuals with the waves of the 
water-mark. We confess that we cannot pronounce decisively, 
but we have an opinion derived from a slight “ goutiness” in the 
fine stioke of the figure 4 that No. 32409 is the forgery ! so 
indeed it was. Yet the Bank Inspector had picked it out from 
the hundred genuine notes as instantaneously — pounced upon it as 
rapidly as if it had been printed with green ink upon card-board 


BANK-NOTE FORGERIES. 




This, then, 0 goiitleinen forgers and sporting-note alterers, is 
the kind of odds which is against you. A minute investigation 
of tlie note assured us of your exceeding skill and ingenuity , 
but it also convinced us of the superiority of the detective or- 
deal which you have to blind and to pass. In this instance you 
had followed the highwayman’s plan, and had put with great 
cunning, the additional marks to the 1 in 32109 to make it into 
a 4. To hide the scraping out of the top or serif of the figure 
1 — to make the angle from which to draw the fine line of the 4 
— ^you had artfully inserted with a pen the figures “ .^16 16,” as 
if that sum had been received from a person bearing a name 
that you had written above. You had with extraordinary neatness 
cut out the “ 6” from 1846, and filled up the hole with an 8, ab- 
stracted from some note of lesser value. You had fitted it with 
remarkable precision — only you had not got the 8 quite upright 
enough to pass the shrewd glance of the Bank Inspector. 

We have seen a one-pound note made up of refuse pieces of 
a hundred other Bank notes, and pasted on a piece of paper, 
(like a note that had been accidentally torn,) so as to present 
an entire and passable whole. 

To alter with a pen a 1 into a 4 is an easy task — to cut out 
the numeral from the date in one note and insert it into another 
needs only a tyro in paper-cutting ; but to change the special 
number by which each note is distinguished, is a feat only second 
in impossibility to trumping every court-card of every suit six 
times running in a rubber of whist. Yet we have seen a note 
so cleverly altered by this expedient, that it was actually paid 
by the Bank cashiers If the reader will take a Bank note out 
of his purse, and examine its “ number,” he will at at once ap 
predate the combination of chances required to find, on any 
other note, any other figure that shall d'splace any one of the 


BANK-NOTE F0R02RIES. 


30/ 


\ 


Qumerals so as to avoid detection. The “ number” of every 
Bank note is printed twice on one line — first, on the words “ I 
promise,” secondly, on the words, “ or bearer.” Sometimes 
the figures cover the whole of those words — sometimes they only 
partly obscure them. No. 99066 now lies before us. Suppose 
we wished to substitute the “ 0” of another note for the first “ 9” 
of the one now under our eye ; we see that the “ 9” covers 
a little bit of the “ P,” and intersects in three places the 
“ r,” in “ Promise.” Now, to give this alteration the smallest 
chance, we must look through hundreds of other notes till we 
find an “ 0” which not only covers a part of the “ P” and in- 
tersects the ‘‘ r” in three places, but in precisely the same places 
as the “9” on our note does ; else the strokes of those letters 
would not meet when the “ 0” was let in, and instant detection 
would ensue. But even then the job would only be half done. 
The second initial “ 9” stands upon the or” in “or bearer,” 
and we should have to investigate several hundred more notes, 
to find an “0” that intersected that little word exactly in 'the 
same manner, and then let it in with such mathematical nicety, 
that not the hundredth part of a hair’s breath of the transferred 
paper should fail to range with the rest of the letters and 
figures on the altered note ; to say nothing of hiding the joins in 
the paper. This is the triumph of ambi-dexterity ; it is a spe- 
cies of patch-work far beyond be most sublime achievements of 
“ Old Patch” himself.” 

Time has proved that the steady perseverance of the Bank — 
lespite the most furious clamor — in gradually improving theit 
original note and thus preserving those most essential qualities, 
simplicity and uniformity — has been a better preventive to 
forg(!ry than any one of the hundreds of plans, pictures, compli- 
•ations, chemicals, and colors, which have been forced upon the 


308 


BANK-NOTE FORGERIES. 


Directors’ notice. Whole-note forgery is nearly extinct. The 
lives of Eminent Forgers need only wait for a single addendum ; 
for only one man is left who can claim superiority over Mathi- 
8on, and he was, unfortunately for the Bank of England, born a 
little too late, to trip up his heels, or those of the late Mr. 
Charles Price. He can do everything with a note that the 
patchers, and alterers, and simulators can do, and a great deal 
more. Flimsy as a Bank note is to a proverb, he can split it 
into three perfect continuous, flat, and even leaves. He has 
forged more than one design sent into the Bank as an infallible 
preventive to forgery. You may, if you like, lend him a hun- 
dred-pound note ; he will undertake to discharge every trace of 
ink from it, and return it to you perfectly uninjured and a per- 
fect blank. We are not quite sure that if you were to burn a 
Bank note and hand him the black cinders, that he would not 
bleach it, and join it, and conjure it back again into a very good- 
looking, payable piece of currency. But we art sure of the 
truth of the following story, which we have from our friend the 
transcendent forger referred to, and who is no other than the 
chief of the Engraving and Engineering department of the Bank 
of England : — 

Some years ago — in the days of the thirty-shilling notes — a 
certain Irishman saved up the sum of eighty-seven pounds ten, 
in notes of the Bank of Ireland. As a sure means of securing 
this valuable property, he put it in the foot of an old stocking, 
and buried it in his garden, where Bank-note paper couldn’t 
fail to keep dry, and to come out, when wanted, in the best 
preservation. 

After leaving his treasure in this excellent place of deposit for 
some months, it occurred to the depositor to take a look at it, 
and see how it was getting on. He found the stocking-foot ap- 


^ BANK-NOTE FORGERIES. 309 

parently full of the fragments of mildewed and broken mush- 
rooms. No other shadow cf a shade of eighty-seven pounds ten 

In the midst of his despair, the man had the sense not to dis- 
turb the ashes of his property. He took the stocking-foot in his 
hand, posted off to the Bank in Dublin, entered it one morning 
as soon as it was opened, and, staring at the clerk with a most 
extraordinary absence of all expression in his face, said, 

“ Ah, look at that, sir ! Can ye do anything for me ?” 

“ What do you call this said the clerk. 

Eighty-siven pound ten, praise the Lord, as I’m a sinner ! 
Ohone I There was a twenty as was paid to me by Mr. Phalim 
O’Dowd, sir, and a ten as was changed by Pat Kielly, and a 
five as was owen by Tim ; and, Ted Connor, ses he to ould 
Phillips ” 

“ Well ! — never mind old Phillips. You have done it, my 
friend !” 

“ Oh, Lord, sir, and it’s done it I have, most com-plate ! 
Oh, good luck to you, sir; can you do nothing for me 

“ I don’t know what’s to be done with such a mess as this. 
Tell me, first of all, what you put in the stocking, you unfor- 
tunate blunderer 

Oh yes, sir, and tell you true as if it, was the last word I 
had to spake entirely, and the Lord be good to you, and Ted 
Conner ses he to ould Phillips, regarden the five as was owen by 
Tim, and not includen of the ten which was changed by Pat 
Rielly ” 

“ You didn’t put Pat Rielly or ould Phillips into the stocking 
did you 

“ Is it Pat or ould Phillips as was ever the valy of eighty- 
sivin pound ten, lost and gone, and includen the five as wai 
owen by Tim, and Ted Connor ” 


310 


BANK-NOTE FORGERIES. 


Then tell me what you did put in the stocking, and let me 
take it down. And then hold your tongue, if you can, and go 
your way, and come back to-morrow.” 

The particulars of the notes were taken, without any refer- 
ence to ould Phillips, who could not, however, by any means be 
kept out of the story ; and the man departed. 

When he was gone, the stocking-foot was shown to the then 
;hief Engraver of the notes, who said, that if anybody could settle 
the business, his son could. And he proposed that the particu- 
lars of the notes should not be communicated to his son, who 
was then employed in his department of the Bank, but should 
be put away under lock and key ; and that if his son’s ingenuity 
should enable him to discover from these ashes what notes had 
really been put in the stocking, and the two lists should tally, 
the man should be paid the lost amount, 'fo this prudent pro- 
posal the Bank of Ireland readily assented, being extremely 
anxious that the man should not be a loser, but, of course, deem- 
ing it essential to be protected from imposition. 

The son readily undertook the delicate commission proposed 
to him. He detached the fragments from the stocking with the 
utmost care, on the fine point of a pen-knife — laid the whole 
gently in a basin of warm water, and presently saw them, to 
his delight, begin to unfold and expand like flowers. By and 
by, he began to “ teaze them” with very light touches of the 
ends of a camel’s-hair pencil, and so, by little and little, and by 
the most delicate use of the warm water, the camel’s-hair pencil, 
and the pen-knife, got the various morsels separate before him, 
and began to piece them together. The first piece laid down 
was faintly recognizable by a practiced eye as a bit of the left- 
hand bottom corner of a twenty-pound note ; then came a bit ol 
a fiue — then of a ten — then more bits of a twenty — then more 


Bank-Kote forgeries. 


311 




bits of a five &nd ten — then, another left-hand bottom corner of 
a twenty — so there were two twenties ! — and so on, until, to the 
admiration and astonishment of the whole Bank, he noted down 
the exact amount deposited in the stocking, and the exact notes 
of which it had been composed. Upon this — as he wished to 
see and divert himself with the man on his return — he provided 
himself with a bundle of corresponding new, clean, rustling notes, 
and awaited his arrival. 

He came exactly as before, with the same blank staring face, 
and the same inquiry, “ Can you do anything for me, sir !” 

“ Well,” said our friend, “ I don’t know. Maybe I can do 
something. But I have taken a great deal of pains, and lost a 
great deal of time, and I want to know what you mean to give 
me !” 

“ Is it give, sir } Thin, is there anything I wouldn’t give for 
my eighty-sivin pound tin, sir ; and it’s murdered I am by ould 
Phillips.” 

“ Never mind him ; there were two twenties, were there 
not .?” 

“Oh, holy mother, sir, there was ! Two most illigant twen- 
ties ! and Ted Conner — and Phalim — which Rielly ” 

He faltered, and stopped as our friend, with much ostenta- 
tious rustling of the crisp paper, produced a new twenty, and 
then the other twenty, and then a ten, and then a five, and so 
forth. Meanwhile, the man occasionally murmuring an excla- 
mation of surprise or a protestation of gratitude, but gradu- 
ally becoming vague and remote in the latter as the notes re- 
appeared, looked on, staring, evidently inclined to believe that 
they were the real lost notes, reproduced in that state by some 
chemical process. At last they were all told o<it, and in his 
pocket, and he st 11 stood staring and muttering, “ Oh, holy 


312 


BANK-NOTE FORGERIES. 


mother, ouly to thiuk of it ! Sir, it’s bound to you forever, that 
I am !” — but more vaguely and remotely now than ever. 

“ Well,” said our friend, ‘‘ what do you propose to give me 
for this 

After staring and rubbing his chin for some time longer, he 
replied with the unexpected question — 

Do you like bacon 

“ Very much,” said our friend. 

“ Then it’s a side as I’ll bring your honor to-morrow morning, 
and a bucket of new milk — and ould Phillips ” 

“ Come,” said our friend, glancing at a notable shillelah the 
man had under his arm, “let me undeceive you. I don’t 
want anything of you, and I am very glad you have got your 
money back. But I suppose you’d stand by me, now, if I 
wanted a boy to help me in a little skirmish .?” 

They were standing by a window on the top storey of the 
Bank, commanding a court-yard, where a sentry was on duty. 
To our friend’s amazement, the man dashed out of the room 
without speaking one word, suddenly appeared in the court-yard, 
performed a war-dance round this astonished soldier — who was 
a modest young recuit— made the shillelah flutter, like a wooden 
butterly, round his musket, round his bayonet, round his head, 
round his body, round his arms, inside and outside his legs, ad- 
vanced and retired, rattled it all around him like a firework, 
looked up at the window, cried out with a high leap in the air, 
“ Whooroo ! Thry me !” — vanished — and never was beheld at 
the Bank again from that time forth. 


THE DOOM OF ENGLISH WILLS 


CATHEDRAL NUMBER ONE. 

There are few things in this beautiful country of England, more 
picturesque to the eye, and agreeable to the fancy, than an old 
Cathedral town. Seen in the distance, rising from among corn- 
fields, pastures, orchards, gardens, woods, the river, the bridge, 
the roofs of ancient houses, and haply the ruins of a castle or 
abbey, the venerable Cathedral spires, opposed for many hundred 
years to the winter wind and summer sun, tower, like a solemn • 
historical presence, above the city, conveying to the rudest mind 
associations of interest with the dusky Past. On a nearer ap- 
proach, this interest is heightened. Within the building, by the 
long perspectives of pillars and arches ; by the earthy smell, 
preaching more eloquently than deans and chapters, of the 
common doom ; by the praying figures of knights and ladies on 
the tombs, with little headless generations of sons and daughters 
kneeling around them ; by the stained-glass windows, softening 
and mellowing the light ; by the oaken carvings of the stalls, 
where the shorn monks told their beads ; by the battered effigies 
of archbishops and bishops, found built up in the walls, when all 
the world had been unconscious, for centuries, of their blunt 
stone noses ; by the mouldering chapter-room ; the crypt, with 
its barred loopholes, letting in long gleams of slanting light from 
the Cloisters where the dead lie, and where the ivy, bred among 
the broken arches, twines about their graves ; by the sound of 


314 


THE DOOM OF ENGLISH WILLS. 


the bells, high up in the massive tower ; by the universal gravity 
mystery, decay, and silcD«e Without by the old environing 
Cathedral-close, with Its rcd-orick houses and staid gardens ; by 
the same stained glass, so dark on that side though so bright 
within ; by the pavement of half-obliterated tombstones ; by the 
long echoes of the visitors’ footsteps ; by the wicket-gate, that 
seems to shut the moving world out of that retirement ; by the 
grave rooks and jackdaws that have built their nests in steeple 
crevices, where the after-hum of the chimes reminds them, per- 
haps, of the wind among the boughs of lofty trees ; by the an- 
cient scraps of palace and gateway ; by the ivy again, that has 
grown to be so thick and strong ; by the oak, famous in all that 
part, which has struck its mighty root through the Bishop’s 
wall ; by the Cathedral organ, whose sound fills all that space, 
*and all the space it opens in the charmed imagination. 

There may be flaws in this whole, if it be examined, too 
closely. It may not be improved by the contemplation of the 
shivering choristers on a winter morning, huddling on their 
gowns as they drowsily go to scamper through their work ; by 
the drawling voice, without a heart, that drearily pursues the 
dull routine ; by the avaricious functionary who lays aside the 
silver mace to take the silver pieces, and who races through the 
Show as if he were the hero of a sporting wager. Some uncom- 
fortable doubts may, under special circumstances, obtrude them- 
selves, of the practical Christianity of the head of some particular 
Foundation. He may be a brawler, or a proud man, or a sleek, 
r an artful. He may be usually silent, in the House of Lords 
when a Christian minister should speak, and may make a point 
of speaking when he should be silent. He may even be oblivious 
of the truth ; a stickler by the letter, not the spirit, for his own 
purposes ; a pettifogger in the supreme court of God’s high law, 


THE POOM OP EWOT. I8H WILLS. 


315 


as there are pettifoggei’S in the lower courts administering the 
laws of mortal man. Disturbing recollections may arise, of a 
few isolated cases here and there, where country curates with 
small incomes and large families, poor gentlemen and scholars, 
are condemned to work, like blind horses in a mill, while others 
who do not work get their rightful pay ; or of the inconsistency 
and indecorum of the Church being made a Robe and Candle- 
stick question, while so many shining lights are hidden under 
bushels, and so many black-cloth coats are threadbare. The 
question may present itself, by remote chance, whether some 
shovel-hats be not made too much on the model of the banker’s 
shovel with which the gold is gathered on the counter, and too 
little in remembrance of that other kind of shovel that renders 
ashes unto ashes, and dust to dust. But, on the whole, the 
visitor will probably be content to say, “ the time was, and this 
old Cathedral saw it, when these things were infinitely worse ; 
they will be better ; I will do all honor to the good that is in 
them, (which is much), and I will do what in me lies for the 
speedier amendment of the bad.” 

In this conclusion, we think the visitor of the old Cathedral 
would be right. But, it is important to bring to the knowledge 
of all visitors of old Cathedrals in England, and of all who stay 
at home too, the most gigantic and least known abuse, attaching 
to those establishments. It is one which affects, not only the 
history and learning of the country, and that powerfully, but the 
egal rights and titles of all classes— of every man, woman, and 
child, rich and poor, great and small, born into this English 
portion of this breathing world. 

For the purpose of the object on which we now enter, we ha\e 
consulted a great mass of documents, and have had recourse to 
the personal experience of a gentleman who has made this kind 


316 


THE DOOM OF ENGLISH WILLS. 


of research his business In every statement we make, we shall 
speak by the card, that equivocation may not undo us. The 
proof of every assertion, is ready to our hand. 

The public have lately heard some trifling facts relative to 
Doctors’ Commons, through the medium of a young gentleman 
who was articled, by his aunt, to a proctor there. Our readers 
may possibly be prepared to hear that the Registry of the Dio- 
cese of Canterbury, in which are deposited all the wills proved 
in that large, rich, and populous district, is a job so enormous as 
to be almost incredible. That the Registrars, with deputies, and 
deputies’ deputies, are sinecurists of from sixteen to seventeen 
thousand pounds, to seven or eight thousand pounds, a-year ; 
that the wills are not even kept secure from fire ; that the real 
working men are miserably paid out of the rich plunder of the 
public ; that the whole system is one of greed, corruption, and 
absurdity, from beginning to end. It is not, however, with the 
Registry of Canterbury that our business lies at present, but 
with the Registries and Peculiars of other dioceses, which are 
attached to the old Cathedrals throughout Great Britain, and of 
which our readers may be by no means prepared to hear what 
we shall have to tell. 

Let us begin by setting forth from London on a little suppo- 
sitious excursion — say with Mr. William Wallace, of the Middle 
Temple and the Royal Society of Antiquaries. 

Mr. William Wallace, for the purpose of a literary pursuit in 
which he is engaged, involving the gratification of a taste he has 
for the history of old manners and old families, is desirous, at hia 
own proper cost and charge, to search the registers in some 
Cathedral towns, for wills and records. Having heard whispers 
of corruption in these departments, and dijficulty of search, Mr. 
Wallace arms himself with letters from the Bishops of those 


THE DOOM OF ENGLISH WILLS 


317 


places. Putting money in his purse besides, be goes down, 
pretty confidently. 

Mr. William Wallace arrives at Cathedral number one ; and, 
after being extremely affected, despite a heavy shower of rain, 
by the contemplation of the building, inquires for the Registrar. 
He is shown a very handsome house in the Cathedral-close — a 
house very superior to the Bishop’s — wherein the Registrar re- 
sides. For, the Registrar keeps a first rate roof over his own 
head, though he keeps his deeds in a dilapidated Gate-house ; 
at which he takes toll to the amount of seven thousand a-year ; 
and where, as at other toll-houses, “ no trust” is the rule ; for 
he exacts his fees beforehand. 

Mr. William Wallace now learns that, locally, the Registrar 
is a person of almost inordinate power ; besides his seven thou- 
sand-pound-per-annum place, he is Chapter Clerk, Town Clerk, 
Clerk to the Magistrates — a Proctor, moreover, in boundless 
practice. He lives in great state ; he keeps horses, carriages, 
dogs, and a yacht ; he is — could he be anything else ? — a staunch 
tory ; he generally proposes the tory members for the county, 
and has been known to pay the entire electioneering expenses 
of a favorite tory candidate. Mr. Wallace, although fortified 
with a letter bearing the mitred seal of the Bishop of the diocese, 
feels that he is about to come in contact with a great power ; an 
awful something that is not to be trifled with ; one of the noblest 
institutions of our land, who is a very Miller of Dee, and ac- 
countable to nobody. 

With a due sense of the importance of this outside buttress 
f the Church, Mr. Wallace presents himself with the Bishop’s 
letter. The Registrar storms, and takes it extremely ill. He 
appears to confound Mr. Wallace with his own foot-boy. He 
says the Bishop has no power to interfere with hiiUj and he won’t 


.^18 


THE DOOM OF ENGLISH WILLS. 


endure it. He says the Bishop don’t know what harm may 
come of* showing wills. He can’t make out, what people want 
to see wills for. He grudgingly concedes some obstructed search, 
on the usual terms ; namely, two guineas per day for all the days 
a clerk — not fond of any sort of fatigue — may choose to take in 
making any particular search. “ But perhaps you will allow 
me to look at the indexes.?” asks Mr. Wallace. “ ThaVs of 
no use,” is the reply, ‘‘ for a great many of the years are miss- 
ing ; and in those we have got, a great many wills are not en- 
tered. We often have to spend two months in finding a will.” 
Our friend then performs a little mental arithmetic : — two 
months — or, even say fifty days — means one hundred guineas, 
to ferret out one will. Complete indexes would only occasion 
ten minutes’ search, equal to one day, or, according to the 
Registrar’s tariff, two guineas. Mr. Wallace then draws the 
inevitable conclusion, that bad indexes partly occasion the in- 
ordinate income of the Registrar, whose manifest interest it is to 
keep them as imperfect as possible. One little trait of the very 
early volumes (the earliest wills are dated a. d. 1180,) is as 
quaint, as it is productive to the Registrar : the names of the 
testators are arranged — alphabetically, it is true — but under the 
Christian instead of the Surnames. Imagine the number of 
days, or couples of guineas, that would drop into the Registrar’s 
coffers, for picking out one particular John Smith from the thou- 
sands of “ Johns,” under the letter “ J !” Since the year 1800, 
the index is better : indeed it is almost as available as the old 
catalogues of the British Museum, though not quite so perfect. 

All this was despair to Mr. William Wallace, who modestly 
hinted that his archaeological necessities pressed him to ask ad- 
mission to the actual depository of the wills. The Registrai 
was petrified with astonishment. His figure expanded with 


THE DOOM OF ENGLISH WILLS. 


319 


burst of indignation, which presently exploded in the interroga- 
tive interjection, “ What that went ofiF, like the sharp crack 
of a rifle. 

What ? Exhibit, to any living soul, the dilapidative neglect, 
the hideous disorder, the wilful destruction of documents, involv- 
ing the transfer of the property, personal and landed, of seven 
counties ; and which he, the Registrar, obtains seven thousand 
pounds per annum for preserving carefully, and arranging dili- 
gently ! Why, only last year the Archaeological Institute 
Great Britain, itself, was peremptorily refused admission ; and 
was it likely that the Registrar would allow Mr. William Wal- 
lace — the friend of a mere Bishop — to be turned loose, to browse 
at will upon the waste the Registrar and his predecessors had 
committed and permitted ? 

But what will not an enthusiastic antiquary dare, in his loved 
pursuit ? Mr. Wallace was bold enough to hint that a Bishop 
had perhaps some power in his diocese — even over a Registrar 
This appeared in a degree to lull the tempest ; and after all 
storms there is a calm. The Registrar reflected. There was 
nothing very formidable in the applicant’s appearance ; he had 
not the hungry look of a legacy or pedigree hunter — a foolish 
young fellow, perhaps, with a twist about old manners and cus- 
toms : and, in short, he may take a look at the repositories. 

Up a narrow stair, under the guidance of a grumpy clerk, our 
persevering Middle Templar wends. In a long room, over the 
arches of the gateway, he sees parallel rows of shelves laden 
with wills ; not tied up in bundles, not docketed, not protected 
in any way from dust or spiders by the flimsiest covering. Only 
the modern wills are bound up ; but — not to encroach upon the 
Registrar’s hard earnings — the backings of the bindings arv; 
composed of such origina wills as were written on parchment 


320 


THE DOOM OF ENQLI H WILLS. 


These are regularly cut up — that is, wilfully destroyed — for 
bookbinding purposes ! 

Mr. Wallace sees, at a glance, that he may as well try to find 
a lost shell on a sea-shore, or a needle in a haystack, as attempt 
to discover what he is desirous of picking out of this documentary 
chaos. He looks round in mute grief ; his archaic heart is 
heavy ; he understands, exactly, how Eienzi felt amidst the 
Ruins of Rome, or the daughters of Jerusalem when they wept 
Wherever he turns his eyes, he sees black, barbarous Ruin. In 
one corner, he observes decayed boxes filled with rotten wills ; 
in another, stands a basket, containing several lumps of mediaeval 
mortar, and a few brick-bats of the early pointed style — the 
edges, possibly, of some hole in the wall too large for even poor 
seven thousand a-year to shirk the stopping of. Despite the 
hints of the clerk that his time is valuable, Mr. Wallace is con- 
templating these relics with the eager gaze of an F.S.A., when 
he descries, hanging over the edge of the basket, something like 
an ancient seal. He scrutinizes it intensely — there is a docu- 
ment attached to it. He rescues it from the rubbish. 

“ What can this be asks Mr. Wallace with glistening eye. 

“ Oh !” answers the clerk, with listless inditference, “ nothing 
of any consequence, Vm sure.” 

By this time, Mr. Wallace has found out that this “ nothing 
of any consequence,” is a Charter of King William the Con- 
queror ; tht identical instrument by 'uHch the See of Dorchester 
was transferred to Li^icoln — that’s all ! The broken seal is not 
of “ much consequence” either. Oh, no ! 

Now it happens that there is only one impression of the great 
seal of the Great Norman extant, and that is in the British 
Museum, broken in half ; this, being a counterpart, supplies thf 
BDtire seal ! Such is the priceless historical relic found in the 


THE DOOM OF ENGLISH WILLS. 


321 


year 1850, by chance, in a lime-basket, in the very place where 
it ought to have been as zealously preserved as if it had been the 
jewel of a diadem ! 

But, other treasures — equally of “no consequence,” and 
about to be carried off by bricklayers’ laborers, to where rub- 
bish may be shot — are dug out by Mr. William Wallace : — 
Item a bundle of pardons from King John to certain barons and 
bishops : Item a Confession of the Protestant Faith made on his 
death-bed by Archbishop Toby Matthew, hitherto supposed by 
his biographers to have died a Catholic : Item, a contemporary 
poem on the Battle of Bosworth. The Registrar’s clerk is of 
opinion, w'hen these are shown to him, that “ they an’t worth 
much,” but growlingly saves them, on remonstrance, and bun- 
dles them into his desk ; where we trust they still remain ; and 
whence we hope they may be rescued by the proper authorities. 

As Mr. Wallace follows his surly guide up the stairs of the 
Gate-house, the rain patters sharply against the casements, and 
a fusty, damp odor emerges from the upper story. Under a 
broken roof, and a ceiling being unplastered in huge patches by 
time and rain, in the top room, lie — or, more correctly, rot — 
the wills of the Archdeaconry of Blowe ; a “ Peculiar” of the 
diocese. The papers below stairs are merely worm-eaten, 
spider-woven, dusty, ill-arranged ; but, compared with those 
which Mr. Wallace now sees — and smells — are in fastidious 
glass-case order. After dodging the rain-drops which filter 
through the ceiling, down among the solemn injunctions of the 
dead, Mr. Wallace is able to examine one or two bundles. Mil 
dew and rot are so omnipotent in this damp depository, that the 
shelves have, in some places, broken and crumbled away. A 
moment’s comparison between the relative powers of wood and 
paper, in resisting water, will give a vivid idea of the condition 


322 


THE DOOM OK ENGLISH VS I L L 8 . 


of the wills in this Archdiaconal shower-bath. The corners of 
most of the piles are as thoroughly rounded off, as if a populous 
colony of water rats (the ordinary species could not have existed 
there) had been dining off them since the days of King Stephen. 
Others are testamentary agglomerations, soddened into pulp, — 
totally illegible and inseparable ; having been converted by age 
much rain, and inordinate neglect, mto post-mortem papier mache. 

All these, are original wills : no such copies of them — which 
Registrars are enjoined to provide — having been made by the 
predecessors of the present pluralist. In order that the dura- 
bility of parchment should be of no avail in arresting the most 
eomplete destruction within the scope of possibility, it is the 
sheepskin testaments of this collection that are regularly shredded 
to bind up the modern wills ranged in books below. 

The very sight of this place, shows the futility of anything 
like research. Mr. Wallace examines a few of the documents, 
only to see their extreme historical as well as local importance ; 
turns away ; and descends the stairs. 

“ Thus, then,” says Mr. William Wallace solemnly, as he 
takes a parting look at the ancient Gate-house, “ are documents, 
involving the personal and real property of Seven English Coun- 
ties, allowed to crumble to destruction ; thus, is ruin brought on 
families by needless litigation ; thus, do Registrars roll in car- 
riages, and Proctors grow rich , thus, are the historical records 
of the great English nation doomed — ^by an officer whom the 
nation pays the income of a prince to be their conservator — to 
rottenness, mildew, and dust.” 

Mr. Wallace having added nothing to the object of his pursuits 
and inquiries, in the Registry of this Cathedral number one, de- 
parted at once for Cathedral number two. How he fare! there, 
the reader shall soon learn. 


tHE DOOM OF ENGLISH WILLS. 




CATHEDRAL NUMBER TWO. 

Mr. William Wallace, having taken some repose in the 
bosom of his family, and having recruited his nervous system, 
impaired for the moment by the formidable demonstrations made 
in unimpeachable Ecclesiastical Registry number one, resolved 
on making a visit to unimpeachable Ecclesiastical Registry num- 
ber two ; upheld by the consideration that, although an Eccle- 
siastical Registry is a fine Institution, for which any Englishman 
would willingly die ; and without which he could, in no patriotic 
acceptation worth mentioning, be an Englishman at all ; still, 
that the last wills and testaments of Englishmen are not exactly 
waste-paper, and that their depositaries ought, perhaps to be 
kept as dry — say as skittle grounds, which are a cheaper luxury 
than Registries, with the further advantage that no man need 
frequent them unless he likes : whereas, to Registries he must go. 

The literary object which Mr. Wallace had in view, in this 
second expedition, beckoned him to the North of England 
“ Indeed,” said Mr. Wallace, pausing. “ Possibly, to the 
second city of England ; an Archbishopric ; giving one of the 
princes of the blood his title ; enjoying the dignity of a Lord 
Mayor of its own ; an ancient and notable place ; renowned for 
its antiquities ; famous for its Cathedral ; possessing walls, four 
gates, six posterns, a castle, an assembly-room, and a Mansion 
House ; this is surely the place for an unimpeachable Registry !” 

He arrived at the venerable city of his purpose, at ten minutes 
past three p. m., according to Greenwich, or at three-ten, accord- 
ing to Bradshaw. 

Our traveler’s first proceeding, was, to take a walk round the 
walls, and gratify his fancy with a bird’s-eye-view of the unim- 


324 


THE DOOM OF ENGLISH WILL# 


peachable registry. He could hardly hit upon the roof of tha 
important building. There was a building in a severe style of 
architecture — but it was the jail There was another that 
looked commodious — but it was the mansion house. There 
were others that looked comfortable — but they were private 
residences. There appeared to be nothing in the way of Kegis- 
try, answering to the famous monkish legend in a certain Chap 
ter-House : 

As shines the rose above all common flowers, 

So above common piles this building towers. 

Yet such a building must be somewhere ! Mr. Wallace went 
into the town and bought a Guide-book, to find out where. 

He walked through the quiet narrow streets, with their gabled 
houses, craning their necks across the road to pry into one 
another’s afi’airs ; and he saw the churches where the people 
were married ; and the habitations where the doctors lived, who 
were knocked up when the people were born ; and he acciden- 
tally passed the residence of Mrs. Pitcher, who likewise officiated 
on those occasions ; and he remarked an infinity of shops where 
every commodity of life was sold. He saw the offices of the 
lawyers who made the people’s wills, the banks where the peo- 
ple kept their money, the shops of the undertakers who made 
the people’s coffins, the church-yards where the people were 
buried, but not the Registry where the people’s wills were taken 
care of. “ Very extraordinary !” said Mr. Wallace. “ In the 
great city of a great ecclesiastical see, where all kinds of moving 
reverses and disasters have been occurring for many centuries 
where all manner of old foundation and usage, piety, and su- 
perstition, were, and a great deal of modern wealth is, a very 
interesting and an unimpeachabl ^ Registry there must be, some- 
where !” 


THE DOOM OP ENGLISH WILLS. 

In search of this great public edifice, the indefatigable Mr. 
Wallace prowled through the city. He discovered many man- 
sions ; but he could not satisfy himself about the Registry. 

The uneasiness of Mr. Wallace’s mind increasing with the 
growth of his suspicion that there must surely be a flaw in the 
old adage, and that where there was a will (and a great many 
wills) there was no way at all, he betook himself to the Cathe- 
dral-close. Passing down an uncommonly pure, clean, tidy little 
street, where the houses looked like a tasteful sort of missionary- 
subscription-boxes, into which subscribers of a larger growth 
were expected to drop their money down the chimneys, he came 
by a turnstile, into that haven of rest, and looked about him. 

“ Do you know where the Registry is he asked a farmer- 
looking man. 

“ The wa’at !” said he. 

“ The Registry ; where they keep the wills 

“ A’ dinnot know for shower,” said the farmer, looking round. 
“ Ding ! If I shouldn’t wondther if thot wur it !” 

Mr. Wallace concealed his disparaging appreciation of the 
farmer’s judgment, when he pointed with his ash-stick to a kind 
of shed — such as is usually called a lean-to — squeezing itself, as 
if it were (with very good reason) ashamed, into the south-west 
corner of the cross, which the ground-plan of the cathedral 
forms, and sticking to it like a dirty little pimple. But, what 
was his dismay, on going thither to inquire, to discover that this 
actually was the unimpeachable Registry ; and that a confined 
den within, which would have made an indifierent chandler’s 
shop, with a pestilent little chimney in it, filling it with smoke 
like a Lapland hut, was the “ Searching Office.” 

Mr. Wallace was soon .taught that seven thousand pounds per 
annum is, after all, but a poor pittance for the Registrar of a 


026 


THE DOOM OF ENGLISH WILLS. 


simple bishopric, when calculated by the ecclesiastical rule of 
three ; for the registry of Cathedral number two, produces tc 
its fortunate patentees twenty thousand per annum ; about ten 
thousand a year for the Registrar who does nothing, and the like 
amount for his Deputy who helps him. 

The portentous personage to whom Mr. ^Wallace was accred- 
ited, received him in state in the small ofl&ce surrounded by a 
Surrogate (apparently retained on purpose to cross-examine Mr. 
Wallace) and the clerks. Mr. Wallace mentioned that he 
believed the Archbishop had written to the Deputy Registrar to 
afford him every facility in consulting the documents under his 
charge. The Deputy Registrar owned that the Archbishop had 
done so, but declared that the Archbishop had no jurisdiction 
whatever over him ; and, claiming as he did, complete immunity 
from, and irresponsibility to, all human control, he begged to 
say that his Grace the Archbishop, in presuming to write to the 
high-authorities of that unimpeachable Registry on such a sub- 
ject, had taken a very great liberty. Mr. William Wallace 
inquired if that was to be the answer he was expected to convey 
to the Archbishop } bowed, and was about to retire, when the 
awful Deputy recalled him. What did he want to search for ? 
Mr. Wallace repeated that his object was wholly literary and 
archaeological. The chief clerk who here came in as a reinforce- 
ment, was so good as to intimate that he ‘‘ didn’t believe a word 
of it.” Whereupon a strong opinion was added that Mr. Wal- 
lace wanted surreptitiously to obtain pedigrees, and to consult 
wills. A powerful battery of cross-questionings was then opened 
by the heavier authorities, aided by a few shots from the light- 
bob, or skirmishing party — the clerk. But had Mr. William 
Wallace been his great ancestor, he could not have held his 
position against sucl odds more firmly. At length the prelimi- 


THE DOOM OF ENGLISH WILLS. 


327 


oaries of a treaty were proposed by the enemy, the terms of 
which were that Mr. Wallace should he allowed to consult any 
records dated before the year one thousand four hundred ! This 
was demured to as utterly useless. Negotiations were then 
resumed, and the authorities liberally threw in another century, 
out of the fullness of a respect for the Archbishop, which they 
had refrained from condescending to express; — Mr. Wallace 
might consult documents up to the year fifteen hundred. 

With this munificent concession, Mr. Wallace was obliged to 
be satisfied, and proceeded to venture on another stipulation : — 

The researches which he had proposed to himself at this 
Cathedral number two, were elaborate and complicated ; they 
would require such facilities as had been asked on his behalf by 
the Archbishop. Could he have access to the documents them- 
selves ? 

The effect which this simple request produced in the office, 
was prodigious ! A small schoolboy who should, at dinner, ask 
for a piece of the master’s apple-pie ; or a drummer on parade, 
who should solicit from his captain a loan of five shillings, could 
not produce a more sublime degree of astonishment, than that 
which glared through the smoke from the faces of the deputy- 
registrar, the surrogate, the chief clerk, and all the junior clerks, 
then and there assembled. The effect produced amounted to 
temporary petrefaction ; the principals neither spoke nor moved ; 
the subordinates left off writing and poking the fire. So super- 
lative was the audacity of the request, that it paralyzed the 
pendulum of that small, rusty, dusty, smoky old ecclesiastical 
clock, and stopped the works ! 

Refusal in words was not vouchsafed to Mr. William Wallace ; 
neither did he need that condescension. The silent but expres- 
sive pantomine was enough. As the Eastern culprit receives 


328 


THE DOOM OF ENGLISH WILLS. 


his doom by the speechless gesture of the judge’s hand across 
his own neck ; so Mr. William Wallace fully understood that, 
access to the record depositories of the province appertaining to 
Cathedral number two, was nearly equivalent to getting into a 
freemason’s lodge after it has been “ tiled,” or to obtaining ad- 
mission to St. Paul’s cathedral without two-pence. 

He therefore waved as perfectly impossible that item of the 
treaty. For the public, however, the evidence of that gentle- 
man is hardly necessary to bring them acquainted with the man- 
ner in which the trust imposed on the Registrar and his Deputy 
is performed ; for while the Deputy Registrar and Mr. William 
Wallace are settling their differences over the next clause of 
their treaty, we shall dip into the reports of the Ecclesiastical 
Commission issued in 1832, to show what the state of things was 
at that time ; and to any one who can prove that those venera- 
ble documents have been by any means rescued from decay since 
that year, the public will doubtless be much obliged. At page 
oriii hundred and seventy of the report, Mr. Edward Protheroe, 
M.P., states, on oath, that in the instance of every Court he 
had visited the records suffered more or less from damp and the 
accumulation of dust and dirt. Then, speaking of the Registry 
of this same Cathedral number two, he declares its documents 
to have been in a scandalous state. “ I found them,” he con- 
tinues, “ perfectly to accord with the description I had received 
from various literary and antiquarian characters who had occa- 
sion to make searches in the office ; and I beg leave to remark 
that the place must have been always totally inadequate as a 
place of deposit for the records, both as to space and security.” 
Some of the writings he found in two small cells, “ in a state 
of the most disgraceful filth others in “ two apertures in the 
thick walls, scarcely to be called windows ; and the only accow- 


THE DOOM OS' ENGL SH WILLS. 


829 


modation for these records are loose wooden shelves, upon which 
the wills are arranged in bundles, tied up with common strings, 
and without any covering to them ; exposed to the effect of the 
damp of the weather and the necessary accumulation of dirt.” 
To these unprotected wills the Deputy Registrar was perhaps 
wise in his generation to deny access ; for Mr. Protheroe says 
in addition that, “ if it was the object of any person to purloin a 
will, such a thing might be accomplished.” Perfectly and safely 
accessible copies might be made, at ‘‘ an expense quite trifling.” 
What ? Mr. Protheroe, would you rob these poor Registrars of 
a shilling of their hard earnings, just to save landed and other 
property, of some millions value, from litigation and fraud .? 
Would you discount their twenty thousand a year by even a 
fraction per cent ? 

The clause of the treaty, offensive and defensive, which was 
being negotiated all this while, between the Deputy Registrar 
and his visitor, was drawn up by the former in these concise 
words, “ How long do you want to be here .^” 

That, Mr. Wallace replied, would depend upon the facilities 
afforded him, the condition of the calendars and indexes, and 
the assistance he might be allowed to call in. After much bat- 
tling, the conference ended by Mr. William Wallace, and a 
friend who accompanied him, being allowed to set to work upon 
the calendars of such wills as had been deposited before the year 
1500. 

The two antiquaries would have commenced their researches 
immediately ; only, on examining their dress, they found it in 
such a state of filth from the smoke with which the office had 
been filled during the arrangement of this important compact, 
that they were obliged to return to the hotel to change their 
linen. The prospect of spending a week in such a place was 


330 


THE DOOM OF ENGLISH WILLS. 


not altogether agreeable. Mr. Wallace did not enjoy the notioL 
of being smoke-dried ; and of returning to the Middle Temple 
a sort of animated ham A sojourn in the place was not to be 
thought of without terror ; yet the poor clerks endured their 
smoking fate with fortitude. Use was to them a second nature ; 
and every man connected with these Registries must be com- 
pletely inured to dust. But the man of the Middle Temple was 
a kind of knight-errant in the matter of rescuing ancient docu- 
ments from their tombs of filth ; and not to be daunted. He 
and his friend opened the campaign directly in the face of the 
enemy’s fire — which, so great was their ardor, they only wished 
would become a little more brisk and less smoky. 

That day and the next day they bored on with patience and 
perseverance through every obstacle. When they found in the 
calendar a reference to what they wanted, every possible obsta- 
cle was thrown in their way. The required document was either 
lost, or had been stolen, or had strayed. Nor was there the 
slightest reason to doubt that this was true. It was well known 
to the searchers that one class of documents at least had been 
actually made away with by a former Deputy Registrar. Dr. 
Thelwall, of Newcastle, wrote in the Grentleman’s Magazine for 
1819, page four hundred and ninety : — “ It is a fact well known 
that, by a Canon of James the First, the clergyman of every 
parish was required to send a copy of the Register annually to 
the Bishop of the Diocese. The most shameful negligence is 
attributable to the person (the Deputy Registrar) in whose keep- 
ing they have been placed. Indeed I have some reason to sup- 
pose this, as I lately saw in the possession of a friend, a great 
number of extracts from the Register of a certain parish in this 
neighborhood, and, on questioning him as to the way in which he 
became possessed of them, I was informed they were given to 


THE DOOM OF ENGLISH WILLS. 


831 


him by his cheesemonger, and that they were copies forwarded 
by the clergyn in of the parish to the proper officer in a border- 
ing diocese, and had been allowed through the negligence of 
their keeper to obtain the distinguished honor of wrapping up 
cheese and bacon.” 

The sale of Records, for waste paper, was the mode adopted 
to revenge the meanness of the legislature, in not providing the 
under-paid Registrars with remuneration for this addition to their 
duties. Was it possible to keep life and soul together upon the 
ten or fifteen thousand sterling per annum which these two poor 
fellows were then obliged to starve upon ? Certainly not ! 
Therefore, to eke out a wretched existence, they found them- 
selves driven to sell the property of the public, if not for the 
necessaries, for the luxuries, of life. They had, perhaps, man- 
aged to keep their families, by a rigid, pinching economy in 
bread — dry bread ; but to butter it ; to indulge themselves with 
the proper diet of even Church mice, they were obliged to dis- 
pose of paper — worth, perhaps, thousands and thousands of 
pounds to the parties whose names were inscribed on it — at a 
few pence per pound, to the cheesemonger. 

From this doom of some of the parochial records of the prov* 
ince, Mr. William Wallace inferred the degree of care and 
exactitude with which the wills were kept. Previous knowledge 
had prepared him for it ; but he was not prepared to find that 
thf, whole of another and most important class of records, up to 
a comparatively late date, had been abstracted, in the lump, 
from the Registry of this Cathedral number two. The case was 
this : — 

In the course of his investigations, it was necessary for him to 
refer to a “ marriage allegation,” — that is, a copy of the state- 
ment made by a bridegroom previous to converting himself, hy 


332 


THE DOOM OF ENGLISH WILLS 


khe helo of the Bishop’s license, into a husband. He then 
learnt that most of such documents are the ‘‘ private property ” 
of one of the clerks, who kept them in his own private house ; 
that he had bought them of a deceased member of the Herald’s 
College, and that for each search into them he charged accord- 
ing to a sliding scale, arranged according to the station of the 
applicant, the maximum of which was five pounds for the simple 
search, and five pounds more if what the party wanted were 
found. The English of this is, that the present custodier of 
these papers purchased of a dead Herald what did not belong 
to him ; and what there could have beet no difficulty whatever 
in restoring to the true owner ; (becausi no one could have 
known better than the purchaser that they were public prop- 
erty); and that their proper place was not his private house, 
but the provincial Registry. The produce of this abstraction 
is an illegal income better possibly than the legal gains of an 
Admiral or a Grovernment Commissioner ; double that of a 
physician in good practice, or of a philanthropist in easy cir- 
cumstances, — and treble that of our best dramatist, or our best 
poet. 

Besides these hindrances, which could not be helped, a certain 
number of wilful obstructions were thrown in the way of our 
inquiring friends, because they had been desired by the Arch- 
bishop to be placed on the fee free-list They were watched by 
the entire office ; for it became Argu; for the occasion. Re- 
marks of a satirical character were discharged point-blank from 
behind the desks, whenever a good opening occurred. The 
non-paying searchers were “ in the way ” — (this was true, sc 
unfit is the apartment for public accommodation); “ what peo- 
ple got they ought to pay for, as oiher people did.” Spies slid 
rilently out from behind the ramparts, or desks, to look over 


THE DOOM OF ENGLISH WILLS. 


333 


^heir shoulders, and to see that they did not purloin any infor- 
mation posterior to the fifteenth century. 

Mr. William Wallace stood all this manfully ; but his ally 
was obliged to retire at the expiration of the second day. Mr. 
William Wallace at length found he could not advance the 
objects of his inquiries any more efficiently at this Cathedral 
number two, than he had advanced them at Cathedral number 
one ; so, at the end of a week, he beat a dignified retreat with 
all the honors of war. He then turned his face towards the 
unimpeachable Registry of Cathedrah number three, hoping for 
better success. 


L'ATllEDRAL NUMBER THREE 

The core of the inquiry which Mr. William Wallace had a 
heart, lay imbedded in the depositories of unimpeachable Eccle- 
siastical Registry number three. To the city of that See he 
therefore repaired, warmed by that fiaming zeal which only 
burns in the breast of an earnest antiquary, and which no 
amount of disappointment can quench. Though sanguine, even 
for an antiquity-hunter, the hopes which rebounded from his 
previous failures, sunk within him, when he remembered that 
whereas he was in former instances fortified with letters of rec 
ommendation — almost of command — from the Bishops of each 
Diocese ; on .this occasion, he had to fight single-handed, (like 
another St George,) the dragons that “ guarded” the treasures 
he sought. He had no better introduction to the third Deputy- 
Registrar than an honest purpose ; and, his former experieri e 


334 


THE DOOM OF ENGLISH WILLS. 


taught him that that was about as unpromising an usher into 
such a Presence as could be imagined. Mr. Wallace therefore 
commenced this new attack with no strong presentiment of 
success. 

Strengthened with an ally, in the person of a friendly 
attorney, Mr. William Wallace marched boldly to the great 
functionary's house, a splendid edifice in the Cathedral Close, 
with thirty-three windows in front, extensive grounds behind, 
detached stables and a tasteful boat-house at the edge of what 
is here called the “ Minster Pool.” 

Into this great house of a great man, Mr. William Wallace 
was ushered by his friend. Nothing could exceed the obse- 
quiousness of the man of law. and great was the civility of the 
man of wills. The interview was going on pleasantly and the 
antiquary was beginning to believe that at last he had found a 
pattern Deputy-Registrar, when the lawyer happened to men- 
tion that Mr. William Wallace was a literary man. Mr. Wal- 
lace felt that this would be fatal — and it was so. He knew the 
condign contempt Ecclesiastical Registrars entertained for the 
literary world, from the little circumstance of hearing only the 
week before in another Registry, the most eminent historian of 
the present day, and our best archaic topographer, designated as 
“contemptible penny-a-liners.” Mr. Wallace was therefore 
not at all astonished when the Deputy-Registrar folded up his 

iiiling countenance into a frown. He evidently knew what was 
3oming. Literary men never pay, and Mr. William Wallace 
wanted to consult “ his” registers gratis. 

When this shrewd surmise was, by a word from the attorney, 
realized, the Registrar struggled hard to smoothe his face again 
to a condition of bland composure ; but in vain. The wound 
»^'hieh had pierced through his pocket, rankled within. Th^ 


THE DOOM 0 ENGLISH WILLS. 


335 


depravity of literary people in endeavoring to dig and delve for 
historical information without paying for the privilege of benc- 
fitting the public by their researches, was too abominable ! The 
Registrar was so good as to say that he would grant Mr. Wal- 
lace the privilege of consulting any wills he pleased — on the 
usual terms : namely, two shillings and sixpence for every 
document. 

With this condescending permission (which placed Mr. Wal 
lace on exactly the same footing as the great body of the public 
which had not done itself the honor of visiting the Deputy- 
Registrar) he repaired to the Searching Ofl&ce. The point he 
had set himself to ascertain at this Cathedral Registry number 
three, hinged upon an authentic attestation of the decease of the 
father of a distinguished general under Charles the First. The 
name was a very common one in the diocese, and of course con- 
tinually occurred in the index. Will after will was produced by 
the clerks ; half-crown after half-crown fell glibly out of Mr. 
Wallace’s pocket. Still no success. This proved an expensive 
day. Mr. Wallace had had to pay, in the course of it, twenty- 
five pounds ; although he was not allowed, as at the other 
places, to make a single extract. 

The income of the office even of Deputy Registrar sometimes 
admits of the maintenance of from six to a dozen race-horses, 
but the expense of compiling paper calendars could never be 
tolerated. To make indexes of wills that have never been 
atalogued would be quite out of the question ; for the Registrar 
charges his clients for the tim'. of his clerks in making searches, 
and it was owned to Mr. Wallace that it would take a year (at 
from one to two guineas per day) to find any will dated before 
the year 1526. 

The searching office of this Registry was, like the others, in- 


336 


THE DOOM OF ENGLISH WILLS. 


convenient, small, and often crowded. The policy of the clerks 
was, therefore, to despatch the inquirers as fast as possible, so 
as to ensure a rapid change of visitors and a streaming influx ol 
half-crowns. On the second day of Mr. Wallace’s search the 
trouble he had given on the previous day for his money was in- 
telligibly hinted to him. He was broadly told that he was 
“ very much in the way for room was so much required that 
some applicants were plainly told that they must “ come again 
to-morrow.” To others who had not their inquiries ready cut 
and dried, in a business form, and who threatened long explana- 
tions respecting testators, a deaf ear was turned, or a pretended 
search was made, and they were told “ there was no such will 
in the place.” A pleasant case occurred on the second morn- 
ing. An illiterate laborer tried to make the officials understand 
that an uncle of his wife had, he had heard, left him a legacy, 
and “ he wanted to know the rights o’ it.” He gave the name 
and the exact date of the death, and a clerk retired under pre- 
tence of searching for the document. In a very short time he 
returned with — » 

“ No such will in the place — half-a-crown, please.” 

‘‘ Half-a-croone .^” said the countryman, “Wat vor .?” 

“ Half-a-crown !” repeated the clerk. 

“Wat, vor telling me nought .?” 

“ Half-a-crown !” was again let off with a loud explosion, 
ever the stiff embrasure of white cravat. 

“ But darn me if oi pay’t,” persisted the expectant legatee 

“ Half-a-crown !” 

The countryman went on raising a storm in the office, in midst 
of which the “ Half-a-crown !” minute guns were discharged 
with severe regularity. At length, however, the agriculturist 
was obliged to succumb, and after a mighty effort to disinter the 


THE DOOM OF ENGLISH WILLS. 


337 


coin from under a smock-frock, and out of the depths of a huge 
pocket and a leather purse, the poor man was obliged to pro- 
duce and pay over what was probably a fifth of his week’s 
earnings. 

This circumstance having attracted Mr. Wallace’s attention 
and pity, he took a note of the name of the testator ; and, after 
the inquirer had left, found it in the Calendar, and by-and-by 
by dint of a little manoeuvring, got a sight of the will. In 
he actually found that the poor man had been left a smal 
legacy. 

Meanwhile Mr. William Wallace nad been actively employed 
in calling for wills and paying out half-crowns. It was quite 
evident from the calendars that no greater care was taken of 
paper and parchment here than in the other Registries. Several 
wills entered in it, as having been once in the depository — 
wherever that was — had against them the words “ wanting” 
and “ lost.” That ancient records should in the course of cen- 
turies fall aside, cannot be wondered at, even in a Registry, 
which produces at present to its officers from seven to ten 
thousand per annum ; but what excuse can there be for the loss 
of comparatively modern ones .? Certain wills were not to be 
found of the years 1746; 1750; 1753; and 1757. 

Mr. Wallace soon found that in a place where dropping half- 
crowns into the till and doing as little as possible in return for 
them, is considered the only legitimate business, he was looked 
upon even at twenty-five pounds per day as a sort of bad bar- 
gain, who required a great deal too much for his money. They 
could not coin fast enough by Mr. William Wallace, and the 
Deputy-Registrar indulged the office with his august presence 
to inform him, that as he gave so much trouble for the searches 

he was making, he must pay, besides two-and-six-pence for 

22 


338 


THE DOOM OF ENGLISH VILLS. 


every future search, two guineas per diem for the use of tn6 
office ! 

It happened that the Bishop of Cathedral number three was 
then in the city, officiating at an ordination, and to him Mr. 
William Wallace determined to apply for relief from this extor- 
tion. He enclosed to his Lordship his letters from other 
prelates and stated his case. The answer he received was the 
Bishop’s unqualified authority to search wherever and for what- 
ever he wanted in the Begisters of his Lordship’s diocese. 

Although this letter was addressed by the Bishop to the 
servant or deputy of his servant, the Registrar, yet Mr. Wal 
lace’s dear-bought sagacity had taught him to place very little 
faith in a Bishop’s power over his inferiors. As it turned out, 
he found himself one of those who are blessed, because, expect- 
ing nothing, they are not disappointed. The Deputy -Registrar 
received his superior’s mandate with supercilious sang-froid. 
The old story — “ The Bishop had no jurisdiction whatever over 
him,” but this once, &c. &c. 

Mr. William Wallace had met in Cathedrals numbers one 
and two, repulses and rudeness. But each Cerberus who pre- 
tended to guard the .documentary treasures of those dioceses, 
honestly showed his teeth. They had not been guilty of deceit. 
Deputy-Registrar number three was wiser in his generation. 
He gave a cold assent to the Bishop’s mandate in Mr. Wal- 
lace’s behalf ; but with it such wily instructions to his clerks, as 
rendered it as nugatory as if he had put it in his waste basket 
ir had lighted his cigar. During the two days that half-crowns 
ained in silver showers from the Antiquary’s purse, nearly every 
Will he asked for was produced ; but now, on the third day, 
when the Bishop’s letter had closed his purse-strings, Mr. 
Wallace demanded document nft(u- document, and was told by 


THE DOOM OF ENGLISH WILLS. 


339 


the “ Conservators” of this important kind of public property, 
that they had “ been lost,” “ could not be found,” “ mislaid.” 
But the most frequent return was, “ destroyed at the siege of 
the City, in the year 1643” — stolen away with the Tomb of 
Marmion when 

Fanatic Brooke 

The fair Cathedral storm’d and took.” 


The result of the three days’ investigations stood thus : 
“ During the two paying days, out of a hundred Wills asked for, 
eighty were produced. Throughout the non-paying day, out of 
ninety Wills asked for, only oTie was produced !” 

When half-crowns were rife, not one word was said about 
“the siege of the City, in the year 1643,” although nearly all 
the Wills Mr. Wallace was obliged with a sight of, were dated 
anterior to that destructive event. 

For some explanation Mr. Wallace repaired to the Deputy- 
Registrar’s abode. It was too late. The clever sub. knew 
what was coming — and retreated from the field. The servant’s 
answer to Mr. Wallace was, 

“ Out of town, sir !” 

But Mr. William Wallace was foiled even more completely 
in another point : he had a great desire to see where and how 
the Wills were kept. He knew their condition in 1832, from 
what Ulster King-at-Arms said before the Ecclesiastical Com- 
mission, “ I consider the records very dirty ; they have not, 
pparently, been dusted for many years.” The remarkable 
esult of Mr. Wallace’s urgent inquiries was that not a soul he 
asked could, or would, tell in what place the ecclesinstical 
records of Cathedral number three were deposited. 

Mr. Wallace gave up this investigation in despaii* and left tne 




340 


THE DOOM OF ENGLISH WILLS. 


city. The locus of the documents was to him a mystery and a 
wonder ! 

The habits of the antiquary do not, however, dispose him to 
indulge in listless despair. To find out the secret masses of the 
records of Cathedral number three was a task Mr. William 
Wallace had so earnestly set himself, that next to his domestic 
relations and his literary labors, it grew into one of the duties 
>f his existence ; therefore, on his way to Cathedral number 
four, he paid another visit to the city of Cathedral number 
three, fortified with letters to some of its clergy. To be sure 
they could clear up the mystery. 

His first application was to one of the Canons. Did he know 
where the ecclesiastical records were kept ’ Well, it was odd, 
but it never entered his head to inquire. He really did Twt 
know. Perhaps some of the Chapter officials could tell. 

To one of these, hies Mr. Wallace. Even that functionary — 
whose courteousness, together with that of his colleague, was 
pleasant to the applicant by the force of mere contrast — was 
equally unable to reveal the secret. “ But surely,” he added, 
“ such a place cannot, when one sets about it, be so impenetra- 
ble a mystery. I have an idea that the MMer could enlighten 
you.” 

“ The Miller ?” 

“ Yes. He knows everything about the town. Try him.” 

Mr. Wallace had business at the searching office, and having 
transacted it, determined to make another effort in this legit- 
imate quarter. The following short dialogue occurred between 
him and the clerk : — “ Pray,” said Mr. Wallace, “ where are 
the Wills kept .?” 

“ That’s not your business !” was the answer. Mr. Wallace 
returned to the charge \ 4t the clerk became deaf, and went on 


THE DOOM OF ENGLISH WILLS. 


341 


with some writing, precisely as if Mr. William Wallace were in- 
visible and inaudible. 

The Miller was the only resource. He was from home, and 
his wife gave the same answer as everybody else had done. 
“ But,” she said, pointing to an individual who was sauntering 
into the Close, “ there’s one as can tell ’ee. He’s a rachetty 
man — he is.” Without waiting to inquire the meaning of this 
strange expression, oflf starts the record-hunter upon the new 
secret. He runs down his game in no time. It consists of a 
burly biped, bearing a cage of fine ferrets. Round his person 
is displayed the broad insignia of office, — he is a rat-catcher. 

Here Mr. William Wallace’s perseverance triumphs. The 
Rat-catcher knows all about it. “ Why you see, Sir,” he said, 
“ I contracts for the Registrar.” 

“ What for ?” 

“ What for } Why, I catches the rats for him at so much 
a -year.” 

“ And where do you catch them 

“ Where do I catch them } Why, where the old wills is.” 

“ And where is that .?” 

“ Where is that ? Why, there.^^ 

The Rat-catcher points to a sort of barn that rises from the 
edge of the Minster Pool. It has no windows on the ground- 
floor. On the first-floor are six — two in the front of the build- 
ing and four at the end, — twenty- seven windows less than are 
displayed in the front of the Registrar’s beautifully glazed house ; 
but much of the little glass afforded to the registry is broken. 
To mend it upon seven thousand a-year would never do, 
especially when old parchment is lying about in heaps. Why 
pay glaziers’ charges when ancient wills and other ecclesiastical 
records keep out wind and weather as well as glass } — for light 


342 


THE DOOM OF ENGLISH WILLS 


is a thing rather to be shunned than admitted into such places. 
Accordingly, as the Rat-catcher points to the shed, Mr. Wallace 
observes numberless ends of record rolls and bundles of en- 
grossed testaments poked into the broken windows ; in some 
places variegated with old rags. 

Judging from the exterior, and from the contract for rat- 
catching, the interior of this depository of the titles of hundreds 
of thousands of pounds worth of property, must be an archaeo- 
logical Golgotha, a dark mouldy sepulchre of parchment and 
dust. 

Lawyers say that there is not an estate in this country with 
an impregnable title ; in other words, it is on the cards in the 
game of ecclesiastical and common law, for any family to be 
deprived of their possessions in consequence of being unable to 
establish a perfect title to them. How can it be otherwise when 
the very deeds by which they have and hold what they enjoy, 
are left to be eaten by rats, or to be stuffed into broken 
windows } 


CATHEDRAL NUMBER FOUR. 

An antiquary cannot approach the city of Chester from London, 
even in an express railway train, without emotions more lively 
than that class of observers generally have credit for. Despite 
a sensation akin to that of being fired off in a rocket, and a 
pardonable fancy that the hedges are endless bands of green 
ribbon in eternal motion, that the houses, and cottages, and 
churches, and trees and villages, as they dart past the confines 


THE DOOM OF ENGLISH WILLS. 


84S 


of the carriage window, are huge missiles shot across fields which 
are subjected to a rapid dispensation of distorted perspective ; 
yet these mighty evidences of the Present do not dull his mind 
to the Past. He remembers, with wonder, that two thousand 
years ago, it was over this identical line of country that the le- 
gions of Suetonius lagged along after they had blunted the scythes 
of Boadicea, routed her hordes, and driven her to suicide. 

We will not say that our own fellow of the Society of An- 
tiquaries, Mr. William Wallace, retrojected his imagination so 
far into the past while crossing the Chester platform with his 
carpet-bag, because we are led to believe, from his report to 
us, that his views were immediately directed to the more modern 
times of St. Werburgh, who founded the Abbey of Chester 
(once the most splendid in England) ; seeing that it is in the 
still-standing gateway of that obsolete establishment, that the 
objects of Mr. Wallace’s especial solicitude are now, and always 
have been deposited, since Henry the Eighth erected Chester 
into a diocese. 

His hopes of success in seeking out certain facts from the 
testamentary records of this see, were more slender than they 
had been while entering upon his errand at the other three ca- 
thedrals. He had written to the bishop for that permission to 
search which had been by other prelates so readily granted, but 
which had been rendered by the respective Registrars so utterly 
nugatory, and had received no answer. Awkward reminiscences 
of the state of this Registry, as disclosed before the last Parlia- 
mentary Committee on the Ecclesiastical Courts, fell like a dark 
shadow over his hopes. Up to the year 1832, the gateway 
where the wills are kept was, upon the Deputy Registrar’s own 
showing, neither “ fire-proof, suflSciently large, nor absolutely 
free from plunder.” The searching-office was a part of the 


544 


THE DOOM OP ENOi^tSH WILLS. 


gateway ; and was as inadequate as other searching offices 
The Chief Registrar in 1837 was a sinecurist in the secentielh 
year of office, and was verging towards the hundredth of his 
age ; having received, in his time, not less than three hundred 
and fifty thousand pounds of the public money for doing nothing. 
The fees for searches and extracts were heavy, and nobody was 
llowed, as in most other Registries, to see how the wills were 
kept. 

Such were the gloomy prepossessions of Mr. William Wallace, 
as he approached the archway which held the testamentary treas- 
ures of Diocese Number Four. He sought the searching office 
in vain, and at length was fain to address himself to the first 
passenger — a burly blaeksmith — who, at once, in answer to his 
inquiry, pointed to a handsome new stone building, that stood 
within the Abbey Square. 

Mr. William Wallace ascended the steps doubtingly ; and 
when he found himself in the wide passage of an evidently well- 
planned public office — so contrary was the whole aspect of the 
place to his preconceptions of it, and to his previous experience 
of other ecclesiastical Registries — that he would have retired, 
had not the words, “ Searching Office,” as plain as paint and 
capitals could make them, stared him full in the face from a 
door on his right. This he boldly opened, and beheld a hand- 
some apartment, so mounted with desks, counters, and every 
appurtenance for public convenience, as to put him in mind of 
the interior of a flourishing assurance office. “ The room,” says 
Mr. William Wallace, in his report to us, “is furnished with a 
counter of ample size, extending round it, on which you examine 
the indexes. On calling for one or two modern wills, the clerks 
brought me a substantial, well-bound book, in which he informed 
me all modern wills have been, since tbe appointment of the 


THE DOOM OF ENGLISH WILLS. 


345 


present Registrar, enrolled at length, in a round text, so distinct 
and plain, that illiterate persons might read them ; and not en- . 
grossed, so as to become a source of revenue, as at Doctor’s 
Commons, where the unlearned, in what is called ‘ court-hand,’ 
are obliged to call in the aid of a clerk, and disburse a fee for 
the wills to be read to them. I was informed that I could see 
the originals on giving a satifactory reason to the Registrar, or, 
in his absence, to a principal clerk. So promptly is business 
done here, that I found the wills which had been received from 
Manchester and other places that day, had been already indexed 
— very different to York, where wills are sometimes not indexed 
for six or eight months, and, consequently, often not at all. I 
next inquired for some earlier wills, and stated that I might 
probably want to have two or three days’ research, for a literary 
purpose. On hearing this, the clerk informed me that the Reg- 
istrar made no charge under such circumstances, except for the 
clerks’ time. T then called for about six early wills, and only 
one of the six could not be found. Afterwards I asked for the 
returns of several Parish Registers ; each set of which are well 
and substantially bound in a separate volume ; for this a fee of 
three shillings and eight-pence is demanded ; at York, for the 
production of a similar quantity of records, fifteen pounds is the 
price, without clerks’ fees ; and at Lincoln it would be impossi- 
ble to collect them at all, many having been used to bind up 
modern wills, and for other such purposes.” 

Mr. William Wallace, pleasingly surprised at the contrast this 
Registry number four presented to others he had visited, and 
where he had been so egregiously snubbed, determined to learn 
and see as .much respecting it as possible. With this view, he 
applied, without any other introduction than his card, to the 
Registrar ; whose excellent custom it was, he understood, to b« 


in attendance daily for several hours. At that time he was ex« 
amining witnesses in a case for the Ecclesiastical Court, and 
handed the card to the bishop’s secretary, who was also in of- 
ficial attendance. “ That gentleman,” says Mr. Wallace, “ im- 
mediately came down, and informed me that the Bishop had 
written to me, in answer to my application, two days before, 
giving me permission to search, at reasonable hours, and that 
the Registrar, as was his usual custom, had not the slightest ob- 
jection. I then asked to be shown the various parts of the 
building, the modes of preserving the records, which request was 
granted without the smallest hesitation.” 

Our informant then goes on to say that he found the building 
— which was raised solely at the expense of the present Registrar, 
since his appointment in 1837 — conveniently divided into difier- 
ent departments like the best of the Grovernment offices, — each 
department legibly indicated for the benefit of the inquirer, on 
the different doors. 

The manner in which the records are preserved at this Ca- 
thedral number four, is spoken of by our friend with satisfac- 
tion. His report to us is silent on rats, wet, mildew, smoke, 
broken windows, torn testaments, and illegible calendars. 
“ Modern wills,” he repeats, “ are copied at length into vol- 
umes, by the present Registrar, a practice which I regret is not 
adopted at York, Lincoln, Lichfield, Winchester, and other 
places I have visited. If wills of an earlier date than that of 
the enrolment books are required to be taken out of the office 
for production in any Court of Law, &c., an examined copy 
made for the purpose, is deposited in its place during its tempo- 
rary removal from the Registry. The principal portion of the 
wills are deposited in a dry, but not a fire-proof building, in 
good repair, called the xibbey Gateway ; where, during the 


THE DOOM OP ENOLtSH WILLS. 


847 


office hours, two clerhs are constantly kept at work in copying 
wills that come in. These are kept in boxes, arranged upon 
shelves with just sufficient space to admit them, like drawers ; 
and upon the top of the wills is a sheet of pasteboard fitting the 
box, as a further protection from dust. The wills are alphabet! 
cally arranged in the boxes, which are of uniform size, and con- 
tain more or less letters ; the first box for 1835, for instance, 
contains the wills of testators whose names commence with A. 
or B. The wills of each letter are placed separately, and are 
divided into packets of one month each, so that the exact date 
of Probate being known, the will is found immediat=^ly. 

Before the period of its renovation, the Registry of Cbe.«tpr 
was as inefficient and exacting as the other three we have de- 
scribed. To whom the merit of the change and the contrast is 
really due, is not easily to be ascertained, although the present 
incumbent of the office must necessarily have the largest share 
of credit for it. We suspect, however, that the proximate im 
petus of the reform can be traced to the geographical position of 
the see. It includes the busiest of the manufacturing towns, 
and the most business-like, practical, and hard-handed examples 
of the English character. The thorough -going Manchester or 
Liverpool legatee would not endure, beyond a certain point and 
a certain time, the impositions, delays, destructions, and mud- 
dling confusion of the will offices in the more easy-going districts. 
Time with him is cash. What he wants he must have at once, 
especially if he pays for it. He may be put off once or twice 
with a rotten, illegible index, or a “ Come again to-morrow 
but when he once sees that these may be obviated, he takes care 
to let there be no delay on his part, and agitates immediately 
To engage a Free Trade Hall, and get up a public meeting, is 
with him a matter of no more consideration than scolding hii 


348 


THE DOOM OF ENGLISH WILLS. 


clerk, or bringing a creditor to book. He has discredited the 
maxim that “ talking is not doing and a constant iteration of 
pertinent speeches, ending with stinging “ resolutions,” has been 
found to do greater feats, to perform much greater wonders than 
Betting ecclesiastical registries in order. It is possible, therefore, 
that the lay authorities of the Chester Registry, having the dread 
f an uncompromising community before their eyes, saw their 
safety in renovation ; and, like sensible men, made it, without 
that whining sophistication, that grim tenacity, with which abuiies 
are excused and clung to, in exact proportion to their absurdi r 
pMtttableness, an I injustice. 


fnti J3E. 


DISAPPEARANCES. 

Now, my dear cousin, Mr. B., charming as he is in man}; 
points, has the little peculiarity of liking to change his lodg- 
ings once every three months on an average, which occasions 
some bewilderment to his country friends, who have no soonei 
learnt the 19 Belle Vue Road, Hampstead, than they have 
to take pains to forget that address, and to remember the 27i. 
Upper Brown Street, Camberwell ; and so on, till I would 
rather learn a page of “ Walker’s Pronouncing Dictionary,” 
than try to remember the variety of directions which I have 
had to put on my’ letters to Mr. B. during the last three 
years. Last summer it pleased him to remove to a beautiful 
village not ten miles out of London, where there is a railway 
station. Thither his friend sought him. (I do not now speak 
of the following scent there had been through three or four 
different lodgings, where Mr. B. had been residing, before his 

country friend ascertained that he was now lodging at R .) 

He spent the morning in making inquiries as to Mr. B.’s 
whereabouts in the village ; but many gentlemen were lodging 
there for the summer, and neither butcher nor baker could in- 
form him where Mr. B. was staying ; his letters were unknown 
at the post-office, which was accounted for by the circum- 
stance of their always being directed to his office in town. 
At last the countr friend sauntered back to the railway 


350 


DISAPPEARANCES. 

otlice, and while lie waited lor the train he made inquiry, as 
a last resource, of the book-keeper at the station. “ No, sir, 
r cannot tell you where Mr. B. lodges — so many gentlemen 
go by the trains ; but I have no doubt but that the person 
standing by that pillar can inform you.’* The individual to 
whom he directed the inquirer’s attention had the appearance 
of a tradesman — respectable enough, yet with no pretensions 
to “ gentility,” and had, apparently, no more urgent employ- 
ment than lazily watching the passengers who came dropping 
in to the station. However, when he was spoken to, he 
answered civilly and promptly. “ Mr. B. ? tall gentleman, 
with light hair ? Yes, sir, I know Mr. B. He lodges at No. 
8 Morton Villas — has done these three weeks or more ; but 
you’ll not find' him there, sir, now. He went to town by the 
eleven o’clock train, and does not usually return until the half- 
past four train.” 

The country friend had no time to lose in returning to 
the village, to ascertain the truth of this statement. He 
thanked his informant, and said he would call on Mr. B. at 

his office in town ; but before he left R station, he 

asked the book-keeper who the person was to whom he had 
referred him for information as to his friend’s place of resi- 
dence. “ One of the detective police, sir,” was the answer. 
I need hardly say, that Mr. B., not without a little surprise, 
confirmed the accuracy of the policeman’s report in even 
particular. 

When I heard this anecdote of my cousin and his friend. 
I thought that there could be no more romances written 
on the same kind of plot as Caleb Williams; the princijial 
interest of which, to the superficial reader, consists in tlic 
alternation of hope and f^ar, that the hero may, or may not 


DI 8APPEARANCES. 


851 


escape his pursuer. It is long since I have read the story, 
and I forget the name of the offended and injured gentle- 
man, whose privacy Caleb has invaded ; but I know that his 
pursuit of Caleb — his detection of.the various hiding-places 
of the latter — his fdlowing up of slight clews — all, in fact, 
depended upon his own energy, sagacity, and perseverance. 
The interest was caused by the struggle of man against man ; 
and the uncertainty as to which would ultimately be success- 
ful in his object ; the unrelenting pursuer, or the ingenious 
Caleb, who seeks by every device to conceal himself. Now, 
in 1851, the offended master would set the detective police to 
work ; there would be no doubt as to their success ; the only 
question would be as to the time that would elapse before the 
hiding-place could be detected, and that could not be a ques- 
tion long. It is no longer a struggle between man and man, 
but between a vast organised machinery, and a weak, solitary 
individual; we have no hopes, no fears — only certainty. 
But if the materials of pursuit and evasion, as long as the 
chase is confined to England, are taken away from the store- 
house of the romancer, at any rate we can no more be 
haunted by the idea of the possibility of mysterious disap- 
pearances ; and any one who has associated much with those 
who were alive at the end of the last century, can testify 
that there was some reason for such fears. 

When I was a child I was sometimes permitted to accom- 
pany a relation to drink tea with a very clever old lady, of 
one hundred and twenty — or, so I thought then ; I now think 
she, perhaps, was only about seventy. She was lively and 
intelligent, and had seen and known much that was worth 
mirrating. She was a cousin of the Sneyds, the family 
whence Mr. Edgeworth took two of his wives; had known 


352 


DISAPPEARANCES. 


Major Andre; had mixed in the old Whig Society that 
the beautiful Duchess of Devonshire and “ Buff and Blue 
Mrs. Crewe ” gathered round them ; her father had been one 
of the early patrons of the lovely Miss Linley. I name these 
facts to show that she was too intelligent and cultivated by 
association, as well as by natural powers, to lend an over easy 
credence to the marvellous ; and yet I have heard her relate 
stories of disappearances which haunted my imagination longer 
than any tale of wonder. One of her stories was this : — Her 
father’s estate lay in Shropshire, and his park gates opened 
right on to a scattered village, of which he was landlord. 
The houses formed a straggling, irregular street — here a gar- 
den, next a gable end of a farm, there a row of cottages, and 
so on. Now, at the end of the house or cottage lived a very 
respectable man and his wife. They were well known in the 
village, and were esteemed for the patient attention which 
they paid to the husband’s father, a paralytic old man. In 
winter his chair was near the fire ; in summer they carried 
him out into the open space in front of the house to bask in 
the sunshine, and to receive what placid amusement he could 
from watching the little passings to and fro of the villagers. 
He could not move from his bed to his chair without help. 
One hot and sultry June day all the village turned out 
to the hay fields. Only the very old and the very young 
remained. 

The old father of whom I have spoken was carried out 
to bask in the sunshine that afternoon, as usual, and his 
son and daughter-in-law went to the hay making. But when 
they came home, in the early evening, their paralyzed father 
had disappeared — was gone ! and from that day forwards 
nothing more was ever heard of him. The old lady, who 


DISAPPEARANCES. 


353 


told this story, said, with the quietness that always marked 
the simplicity of her narrations, that every inquiry which her 
father could make was made, and that it could never be 
accounted for. No one had observed any stranger in the 
village; no small household robbery, to which the old man 
might have been supposed an obstacle, had been committed 
iji his son’s dwelling that afternoon. The son and daughter- 
in-law (jioted, too, for their attention to the helpless father) 
had been aiield among all the neighbors the whole of the 
time. In short, it never was accounted for, and left a painful 
impression on many minds. 

I will answer for it, the detective police would have ascer- 
tained every fact relating to it in a week. 

This story from its mystery was })ainful, but had no con- 
sequences to make it tragical. The next which I shall tell, 
(and although traditionary, these anecdotes of disappear- 
ances which I i-elate in this paper >re correctly reja/ated, 
and w'ere believed by iny informants to be strictly true.) 
had consequences, and melancholy ones, too. The scene of 
it is in a iililc country town, surrounded by the estates of 
several gentlemen of large property. About a hundred years 
a2() there live<l in this small town an attorney, with his 
mother atid sisters. He was agent for one of the ’squires 
near, and received rents for him on stated days, which, of 
course, were well known. He went at these times to a small 

[)ublic house, perhaps live miles from , where the tenants 

met him, paid their rents, and were entertained at dinner 
afterwards. One night he did not return from this festivity. 
He never returned. The gentleman whose agent he was em- 
ployed the Dogberrys of the time to find him and the missing 
cash; the mother, whose supi)ort and comfort he was, sought 
• 2.3 


854 


D I S A P i: A K A N C K S . 


him with ail the perseverance of faithful love. But he never 
returned, and by and by the rumor spread that he must have 
gone abroad with the money ; !iis mother heard the whispers 
all around her, and could not disprove it ; and so her heart 
broke, and she died. Years after, I think as many as tifty, 

the well-to-do butcher and grazier of died ; but, before 

his death, he confessed that he had waylaid Mr. on the 

heath close to the town, almost within call of his own house, 
intending only to rob liiin ; but meeting with more resistance 
than he anticipated, had been provoked to stab him, and had 
buried him that very night deep under the loose sand of the 
heath. There his skeleton was Ibiind ; but too late for his 
}) 00 r mother to know that his fame was cleared. His sister, 
too, was dead, unmarried, for no one liked the possibilities 
which might arise from being connected with the family. 
None cared if he was guilty or innocent now. 

ff our detective police had only been in existence ! 

This last is hardly a story of unaccounted for disappear- 
ance. It is only unaccounted for in one generation. But 
disappearances nevcn* to be accounted for on any supposition 
are not uncommon, among the traditions of the last century. 
1 have heard (and 1 think 1 liave heard it in one of the ear- 
lier numbers of “ Chambers’s Journal”) of a marriage which 
took place in Lincolnshire about the year 1750. It was not 
then de rigiier that the happy couple should set out on a wed- 
ding journey ; but instead, they and their friends had a merry, 
jovial dinner at the house of either bride or groom ; and in 
this instance the whole party adjourned to the bridegroom’s 
residence, and dispersed ; some to ramble in the garden, some 
to rest in the house until the dinner hour. The bridegroom, 
it is to be supposed, was with his bride, when he was snt*- 


D I S A P P i: A R A N C E S . 


355 


denly summoned away by a domestic, who said that a stranger 
wished to speak to liiin ; and henceforward he was never seen 
more. The same tradition hangs about an old deserted 
Welsh hall, standing in a wood near Festiniog ; there, too, 
the bridegroom was sent for to give audience to a stranger 
on his wedding day, and disappeared from the face of the 
earth from that time ; but there they tell in addition, that the 
bride lived long, — that she passed her threescore years anu 
ten, but that daily, during all those years, while there wa. 
light of sun or moon, to lighten the earth, she sat watching,— 
watching at one particular window, which commanded a vie\s 
of the approach to the house. Her whole faculties, her whole 
mental powers, became absorbed in that weary watching • 
long before she died she was childish, and only conscious of 
one w'ish — to sit in that long, high window, and watch the 
road along which he might come. She was as faithful as 
Evangeline, if pensive and inglorious. 

That these two similar stories of disappearance on a wed' 
ding-day “obtained,” as the French say, shows us that any 
thing which adds to our facility of communication, and organ- 
ization of means, adds to our security of life. Only let a 
bridegroom try to disappear from an untamed Katherine of a 
bride, and he will soon be brought home like a recreant 
coward, overtaken by the electric telegraph, and clutched 
back to his fate by a detective policeman. 

Two more stories of disappearance, and I have done. 1 
will give you the last in date first, because it is the most 
melancholy ; and we will wind up cheerfully (after a fashion.) 

Some time between 1820 and 1830, there lived in North 
Shields a respectable old woman and her son, who was trying 
to str iggle into sufficient knowledge of medicine to go out as 


356 


DISAPPEARANCES 


ship surgeon in a Baltic vessel, and perhaps in this manner 
to earn money enough to spend a session in Edinburgh. He 
was furthered in all his plans by the late benevolent Dr. 

G , of that town. 1 believe the usual premium was not 

required in his case ; the young man did many useful errands 
and offices which a finer young gentleman would have con- 
sidered beneath him ; and he resided with his mother in one 
of the alleys (or “ chares,”) which lead down from the main 

street of North Shields to the river. Dr. G had been 

with a patient all night, and left her very early on a winter’s 
morning to return home to bed ; but first he stepped down to 
his apprentice’s home, and bade him get up, and follow him 
to his own house, where some medicine was to be mixed, and 
then taken to the lady. Accordingly the poor lad came, pre- 
pared the dose, and set off with it some time between five and 
six on a winter’s morning. He was never seen again. Dr. 

G waited, thinking he was at his mother’s house ; she 

waited, considering that he had gone to his day’s work. And 
meanwhile, as people remembered afterwards, the small vessel 
bound to Edinburgh sailed out of port. The mother expected 
him back her whole life long; but some years afterwards 
occurred the discoveries of the Hare and Burke horrors, and 
people seemed to gain a dark glimpse at his fate ; but I never 
heard that it was fully ascertained, or indeed, more than sur- 
mised. I ought to add, that all who knew him spoke em- 
phatically as to his steadiness of purpose and conduct, so as 
to rerder it improbable in the highest degree that he had run 
oir to sea, or suddenly changed his plan of life in any way. 

My last story is one of a disappearance which was ac- 
.?cunted for after many years. There is a considerable street 
in Manchester, leading from the centre of the town to some 


DISAPPEARANCES. 


357 


of the suburbs. This street is called at one part Garratt, 
and afterwards, where it emerges into gentility and compara- 
tively country, Brook Street. It derives its former name 
from an old black-and-white hall of the time of Richard the 
Third, or thereabouts, to judge from the style of building ; 
they have closed in what is left of the. old hall now; but a 
few years since this old house was visible from the main roadj 
it stood low, on some vacant ground, and appeared to be half 
in ruins. I believe it was occupied by several poor families, 
who rented tenements in the tumble-down dwelling. But for- 
merly it was Gerard Hall, (what a difference between Gerard 
and Garratt!) and was surrounded by a j)ark, with a clear 
brook running through it, with pleasant fish ponds, (the name 
of these was preserved, until very lately, on a street near), 
orchards, dove-cotes, and similar appurtenances to the manor- 
houses of former days. I am almost sure that the family to 
whom it belonged were Mosleys ; probably a brandi of the 
tree of the lord of the Manor of IManchester. Any topo- 
graphical work of the last century relating to their district 
would give the name of the last proprietor of the old stock, 
and it is to him that my story refers. 

Many years ago there lived in Manchester two old maiden 
ladies, of high respectability. All their lives had been spent 
in the town, and they were fond of relating the changes 
which had taken place within their recollection ; which ex- 
tended back to seventy or eighty years from the present time. 
They knew much of its traditionary history from their father, 
as well; who, with his father before him, had been respect- 
able attorneys in Manchester, during the greater part of the 
last century ; they were, also, agents for several of the county 
families, who, driven from their old possessions by the en- 


358 


DISAPPEARAN 3ES. 


largement of the town, found some compensation in tie 
increased value of any land which they might choose to sell. 
Consequently the Messrs. S , fatliei’ and son, were con- 

veyancers in good repute, and acquainted with several secret 
pieces of family history ; one of which related to Garratt 
Hall. 

The owner of this estate, some time in the first half of 
(he last century, married young; he and his wife had several 
children, and lived together in a quiet state of happiness for 
many years. At last, business of some kind took the husband 
up to London ; a week’s journey those days. He wrote, and 
announced his arrival ; I do not think he ever wrote again. 
He seemed to be swallowed up in the abyss of the metropo- 
lis, for no friend (and the lady had many and powerful 
friends) could ever a>c<'rtain for her what had become of 
him ; the prevalent idea was that he had been attacked by 
some of the street robbers who prowled about in those days, 
that he had resisted, and had been murdered. His wife 
gradually gave uj) all hopes of seeing him again, and devoted 
herself to the care of her children ; and so they went on, 
tranquilly enough, until the heir became of age, when certain 
deeds were necessary before he could legally take i)Ossession 

of the property. These deeds Mr. S (the family law 

yer) stated had been given up by him into the missing gen 
tleman’s keeping just before the last mysterious journey to 
London, with which I think they were in some way con* 
cerned. It was possible that they were still in existence , 
some one in London might have them in possession, and be 
either conscious or unconscious of their importance. At any 

rate, Mr. S ’s advice to his client was that he should put 

an advertisement in the London papers, worded so skilfully 


D I s A r r E A R A N 8 K S . 


3.59 


that any one who might hold the important documents should 
understand to what it referred, and no one else. This was 
accordingly done; and although repeated, at intervals, for 
some time, it met with no success. But, at last, a mysterious 
answ'cr was sent, to the effect that the deeds were in exist- 
ence, and should be given up ; but only on certain conditions, 
and to tlie heir liimself Tlie young man, in consequence, 
went uj) to London ; and adjourned, accoi’ding to directions, 
to an old house in Barbacan ; where he was told by a man, 
apparently awaiting him, that he must submit to be blind- 
folded, and must follow his guidance. He was taken through 
several long passages before he left the house ; at the ter- 
mination of one of these he was put into a sedan chair, and 
cai ried about for an hour or more ; he always reported that 
there were many turnings, and that he imagined he was set 
down tinally not veiy far. from his starting-point. 

When his eyes were unbandaged, he was in a decent sit- 
ting-room, with tokens of family occupation lying about. A 
middle-aged gentleman entered, and told him that, until a cer- 
tain time had elapsed (which should be indicated to him in a 
particular way, but of which the length was not then named) 
he must swear to secrecy as to tiie means by which he ob- 
tained possession of the deeds. This oath was taken, and 
then the gentleman, not without some emotion, acknowledged 
himself to be the missing father of the heir. It seems that 
he had fallen in love with a damsel, a friend of the person 
with whom he lodged. To this young woman he had repre- 
sented himself as unmarried ; she listened willingly to his 
wooing, and her father, who was a shopkeej)er in the city, 
was not averse to the match, as the Lancashire ’squire had a 
goodly presence, and many similar q aalities, which the shop- 


360 


DISAPPEARANCICS. 


keeper thought luight be acceptable to liis customers. The 
bargain was struck ; the descendant of a knightly race mar- 
ried the only daughter of the city shopkeeper, and bectime a 
junior partner in the business. He told his son that he had 
never repented the step he had taken ; that his lowly-born 
wife was sweet, docile and affectionate ; tiiat his family by her 
was large and that he and they were thriving and happy. 
He inquired after his first (or rather, I should say, his true) 
wife with friendly affection ; approved of what she had done 
with regard to liis estate, and tlie education of his children ; 
but said that he considered he was dead to her, as she was to 
him. When he really died he promised that a particular 
message, the nature of which he specified, should be sent to 
his son at Garratt ; until then tliey would not hear more of 
each other; for it was of no use attempting to trace him 
under his incognito, even if the 0 }ith did not render such an 
attempt forbidden. 1 dare say the youth had no great desire 
to trace out the father, who had been one in name only. He 
returned to Lancashire ; took possession of the property at 
Manchester ; and many years elapsed before he received the 
mysterious intimation of his father’s real death. After that 
he named the particulars connected with the recovery of the 

title-deeds to Mr. S , and one or two intimate friends 

When the family became extinct, or removed from Garratt, it 
became no longer any very closely kept secret, and I was 

told the tale of the disappearance by Miss S , the aged 

daughter of the family agent. 

Once more, let me say, I am thankful I live in the days of 
the detective police ; if 1 am murdered, or commit a bigamy, 
At any rate my friends will have the comfort of knowing all 
about it. 


. 3E3ET. 

LOADED DICE. 

Several years ago I raade a tour through some of the 
.southern counties of England with a friend. We travelled 
in an open carriage, stopping for a few hours a day, or 
a week, as it might be, wherever there was any thing to be 
seen ; and we generally got through one stage before break- 
fast, because it gave our horses rest, and ourselves the chance 
of enjoying the brown bread, new milk, and fresh eggs of 
those country roadside inns, which are fast becoming subjects 
for archaeological investigation. 

One evening my friend said, “ To-morrow, we will break- 
fast at T . 1 want to inquire about a family named Lov- 

ell, who used to live there. 1 met the husband and wife and 
two lovely children, one summer, at Kxmouth. We became 
very intimate, and 1 thought them particularly interesting 
people, but I have never seen them since.” ^ 

The next morning’s sun shone as brightly as heart could 
desire, and after a delightful drive, we reached the outskirts 
of the town about nine o’clock. 

“ O, what a pretty inn ! ” said I, as we a|)proached a small 
white house, with a sign swinging in front of it, and a flower 
garden on one side. 

“ Stop, John,” cried my friend ; “ we shall get a much 
cleaner breakfast here than in the town, I dare say ; and if 


362 


L O A I) E I) DICE. 


there is any thing to be seen there, we can walk to it;” so 
we alighted, and were shown into a ^neat little parlor, witt 
white curtains, where an unexceptionable rural breakfast was 
soon placed before us. 

“ Pray do you happen to know any thing of a family called 
Lovell? ” inquired my friend, whose name, by the way, was 
Markham. “ Mr. Lovell was a clergyman.” 

“ Yes, ma’am,” answered the girl who attended us, appa- 
rently the landlord’s daughter, “Mr. Lovell is the vicar of 
our parish.” 

“ Indeed ! and does he live near here ? ” 

“ Yes, ma’am, he lives at the vicarage. It is just down that 
lane opposite, about a quarter of a mile from here ; or you 
can go across the fields, if you please, to where you see that 
tower it’s close by there.” 

“ And which is the pleasantest road ? ” inquired Mrs. 
Markham. 

••Well, ma’am, I think by the fields is the plea.santest, if 
you dorw't mind a stile or two ; and, besides, you get the best 
view of the abbey by going that way.” 

“ Is that tower we see part of the abbey ? ” 

“ Yes, ma’am,” answered the girl ; “ and the vicarage is 
just the other side of it.” 

Armed with these instructions, as soon as we had finished 
our breakfast we started across the fields, and after a pleasant 
walk of twenty minutes we found ourselves in an old church- 
yard, amongst a cluster of the most picturesque ruins we had 
ever seen. With the exception of the gray tower, which we 
had espied from the inn, and which had doubtless been tiie 
belfry, the remains were not considerable. Tiiere was the 
outer wall of the chancel, and the broken step that had led to 


LOADED DICE. 


363 


the high altar, and there were sections of aisles, and part of a 
cloister, all gracefully festooned with mosses and ivy ; whilst 
mingled with the grass-grown graves of the prosaic dead, 
there were the massive tombs of the Dame Margerys and the 
Sir Hildebrands of more romantic periods. All was ruin and 
decay; but such poetic ruins! such picturesque decay! And 
just beyond the tall gieat towei-, there was the loveliest, smil- 
ing little garden, and the pi-ettiest cottage, that imagination 
could jiicture. The day was so bright, the gi*ass so green, the 
flowers so gay, the air so balmy with their sweet perfumes, the 
birds sang so cheerily in the apple and cherry trees, that all 
nature seemed rejoicing. 

“Well,” said my friend, as she seated herself on the frag- 
ment of a pillar, and looked around her, “ now that I see this 
place, I understand the sort of people the Lovells were.” 

“ What sort of people were they ? ” said I. 

“ Why, as I said before, interesting people. In the first 
place, they were botli extremely handsome.” 

“ But the locality had nothing to do with their good looks, 
I presume,” said I. 

“ T am not sure of that,” she answered ; “ when there is the 
least foundation of taste or intellect to set out with, the 
beauty of external nature, and the picturesque accidents that 
harmonise with it, do, I am persuaded, by their gentle and el- 
evating influences on the mind, make the handsome handsom- 
er, and the ugly less ugly. But it was not alone the good 
looks of the Lovells that struck me, but their air of refine- 
ment and high breeding, and I should say high birth — 
though T know nothing about their extraction — combined 
with their undisguised poverty and as evident contentment. 
Now, I can understand such people finding here an appropri- 


364 


LOAD E D DICE. 


ate liome, and being satisfied with their small share of this 
world’s goods ; because here the dreams of romance writers 
about love in a cottage might be somewhat realized ; poverty 
might be graceful and poetical here ; and then, you know, 
they have no rent to pay.” 

“ Very true,” said I ; “ but suppose tliey had sixteen 
daughters, like a half-pay officer I once met on board a steam 
packet ? ” 

“ That would spoil it, certainly,” said Mrs. Markham ; “ but 
let us '4ope they have not. When I knew them they had 
only wo children, a boy and a girl, called Charles and Emi- 
Iv • Iwo of the prettiest creatures I ever beheld.” 

As my friend thought it yet rather early for a visit, we 
^ad remained chattering in this way for more than an hour, 
iometimes seated on a tombstone, or a fallen column ; some- 
times peering amongst the carved fragments that were scat- 
tered about the ground, and sometimes looking over the 
hedge into the little garden, the wicket of which was imme- 
diately behind the tower. The weather being warm, most of 
the windows of the vicarage were open, and the blinds were 
all down ; we had not yet seen a soul stirring, and were just 
wondering whether we might venture to present ourselves at 
the door, when a strain of distant music struck upon our ears. 
“ Hark ! ” I said ; “ how exquisite ! It was the only thing 
wanting to complete the charm.” 

“ It is a military band, I thiid^,” said Mrs. Markham ; “ you 
know we passed some barracks before we reached the inn.” 

Nearer and nearer drew the sounds, solemn and slow ; the 
band was evidently approaching by the green lane that skirted 
the fields we had come by. “ Hush ! ” said I, laying my hand 
on my friend’s arm, with a strange sinking of the heart ; 


LOADED DICE. 


365 


“ they are playing the Dead Mai-ch in Saul ! Don’t you h(‘ai 
the muffled drums? It’s a funeral, but where’s tlie "rave ? ” 

“ There ! ” said she, pointing to a spot close under the 
hedge where some earth had been thrown up ; but the 
aperture was covered with a plank, probably to prevent 
accidents. 

There are few ceremonies in life at once so touching, so 
impressive, so sad, and yet so beautiful as a soldier’s funeral ! 
Ordinary funerals, with their unwieldy hearses and feathers, 
and the absurd looking mutes, and the “ inky cloaks ” and 
weepers of hired mourners, always seem to me like a mock- 
ery of the dead ; the appointments border so closely on the 
grotesque ; they are so little in keeping with the true, tlie 
only view^ of death that can render life endurable ! 

There is such a tone of exaggerated — forced, heavy, over- 
acted gravity about the whole thing, that one had need to 
have a deep personal interest involved in the scene, to be able 
to shut one’s eyes to the burlesque side of it. But a mili- 
tary funeral, how different ! There you see death in life and 
life in death ! There is nothing overstrained, nothing over- 
done. At once simple and solemn, decent and decorous, con- 
soling, yet sad. The chief mourners, at best, are generally 
true mourners, for they have lost a brother with whom “they 
sat but yesterday at meat ; ” and whilst they are compar- 
ing memories, recalling how merry they had many a day been 
together, and the solemn tones of that sublime music float 
upon the air, we can imagine the freed and satisfied soul 
wafted on those harmonious breathings to its heavenly home ; 
and our hearts are melted, our imaginations exalted, our faith 
invigorated, and we come away the better for what we have 


Feen. 


366 


LOADED DICE. 


I believe some such reflections as these were passing 
through our minds, for we both remained silent and listening, 
till the swinging to of the little wicket, which communicated 
with the garden, aroused us ; but nobody appeared, and the 
the tower being at the moment betwixt us and it, we could not 
see who had entered. Almost at the same moment a man 
came in from a gate on the opi)osite side, and advancing to 
where the earth was thrown up, lifted the plank and discov- 
ered the newly-rnade grave. He was soon followed by some 
boys, and several respectable-looking persons came into the 
enclosure, whilst nearer and nearer drew the sound of the 
muffled drums ; and now we descried the tiring party and their 
officer, who led the procession witli their arms reversed, each 
man wearing above the elbow a piece of black crape and a 
small bow of white satin ribbon ; the band still playing that 
solemn strain. Then came the coffin, borne by six soldiers. 
Six officers bore up the pall, all quite young men ; and on 
the coffin lay the shako, sword, side-belt, and white gloves of 
the deceased. A long train of mourners marched two and 
two, in open file, the privates first, the officers last. Sorrow 
vvas imprinted on every face ; there was no unseemly chatter- 
ing, no wandering eyes ; if a word was exchanged, it was in 
a whisper, and the sad shake of the head showed of whom 
they were discoursing. All this we observed as they marched 
through the lane that skirted one side of the churchyaid. 
As they neared the gate the band ceased to play. 

“ See there ! ” said Mrs. Markham, directing my attention 
to the cottage ; “ there comes Mr. Lovell. 0, how he has 
changed ! ” and whilst she spoke, the clergyman, entering by 
the wicket, advanced to meet the procession at the gale, 
where he commenced reading the funeral service as he moved 


LOADED DICE. 


367 


bft'.'kw’ards K a hrIs tlie grave, round wliicli the firing j>artj, 
leaning on their firelocks, now formed. Then came those aw- 
ful words, Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” the hollow sound of 
the earth upon the eotfin, and three volh*ys fired over the 
grave finished the solemn ceremony. 

When the })roce3sion entered the churchyard, we had re- 
tired behind the broken wall of the chancel, whence, without 
being observed, we had watched the whole scene with intense 
interest. Just as the words “ Ashes to ashes ! dust to dust ! ” 
w(‘re pronounced, J happened to raiSe my eyes towards the 
gray tower, and then, peering through one of the narrow slits, 1 
saw the face of a man — such a face ! Never to my latest 
day can I forget the expression of those featui-es ! If evei 
there was despair and anguish written on a liuman counteir 
ance, it was there ! And yet so young ! so beautiful ! A 
cold chill ran through my veins as 1 pressed Mrs. iMarkham’s 
arm. ‘‘ Look uj) at the tower!” I whispered. 

My God 1 What can it be ? ” she answered, turning 
(juite pale. “ And Mr. Lovell, did you observe how his 
voice shook? At first I thought it was illness; but he 
seems bowed down with grief. Every face looks awe- 
struck ! There must be some tragedy here — something more 
than the death of an individual!” and fearing, under this 
impression, that our visit might prove untimely, we resolved 
to return to the inn, and endeavor to discover if any thing 
unusual had really occurred. Before we moved I looked up 
at the narrow slit — the face was no longer there ; but as we 
passed round to the other side of the tower, we saw a tall, 
slender figure, attired in a loose coat, pass slowly through the 
wicket, cross the garden, and enter the house. We only 
caught a glimpse of the profile; the head hung down upre 


368 


LOADED DICE. 


the breast ; the eyes were bent upon the ground ; but we 
knew it was the same face we had seen above. 

We went back to the inn, where our inquiries elicited some 
information which made us wish to know mor^^ ; but it was 
not till we went into the town that we obtained the following 
details of this mournful drama, of which we .ad thus acci- 
dentally witnessed one impressive scene. 

Mr. Lovell, as Mrs. Markham had conjectured, was a man 
of good family, but no fortune; he might have had a large 
one, could he have made up his mind to marry Lady Eliza- 
beth Wentworth, a bride selected for him by a wealthy uncle 
who proposed to make him his heir ; but ])referring poverty 
with Emily Dering, he was disinherited. He never repented 
his choice, although he remained vicar of a small parish, and 
a pool* man all his life. The two children whom Mrs. Mark- 
ham had seen were tlie only ones they had, and through the 
excellent management of Mrs. Lovell, and the moderation of 
her husband’s desires, they had enjoyed an unusual degree of 
happiness in this sort of graceful poverty, till the young 
Charles and Emily were grown up, and it was time to think 
what was to be done with them. The son had been prepan^d 
for Oxford by the father, and the daughter, under tiie tuition 
of her mother, was remarkably well educated and accom- 
plished ; but it became necessary to consider the future : 
Charles must be .sent to college, since the only chance of find- 
ing a provision for him was in the church, although the ex- 
pense of maintaining him there could be ill afforded; so, in 
order in some degree to balance the outlay, it was, after much 
deliberation, agreed that Emily should accept a situation as 
governess in London. The proposal was made by herself, 
and the rather consented to, that, in case of the death of her 




I. O A I) E I) 


1) I c ! 


parents, sne would almost inevitably have liad to seek some 
such means of subsistence. These partings were the first 
sorrows that had reached the Lovells. 

At first all went well. Charles was not wanting in ability 
nor in a moderate degree of application : and Emily wrote 
cheerily of her new life. She was kindly received, well 
treated, and associated with the family on the footing of a 
friend. Neither did further experience seem to diminish her 
satisfaction. She saw a great many gay people, some of 
whom she named ; and, amongst the rest, there not unfre- 
quently appeared the name of Herbert. Mr. Herbert was in 
the army, and being a distant connection of the family with 
whom she resided, was a frequent visitor at their house. 
“ She was sure papa and mamma would like him.” Once the 
mother smiled, and said she hoped Emily was not falling in 
love ; but no more was thought of it. In the mean time 
Charles had found out that there was time for many things at 
Oxford, besides study. He was naturally fond of society, and 
had a remarkable capacity for excelling in all kinds of games. 
He was agreeable, lively, exceedingly handsome, and sang 
charmingly, having been trained in part singing by his mother. 
No young man at Oxford was more fete ; but alas ! he was 
very poor, and poverty poisoned all his enjoyments. For 
some time he resisted temptation ; but after a terrible strug- 
gle — for he adored his family — he gave way, and ran in 
debt, and although his imprudence only augmented his misery, 
he had not resolution to retrace his steps, but advanced further 
and further on this broad road to ruin, so that he had come 

home for the vacation shortly before our visit to T , 

threatened with all manner pf annoyances if he did not carry 
back a sufficient sum to satisfy his most clamorous creditors. 


370 


LOADED DICE. 


He had assured them he would do so, but where was he to 
get the money ? Certainly not from his parents ; he well 
knew they had it not ; nor had he a friend in the world from 
whom he could hope assistance in such an emergency. In 
his despair he often thought of running away — going to Au& 
tralia, America, New Zealand, any where ; but he had not 
even the means to do this. He suffered indescribable tortures 
and saw no hope of relief. 

It was just at this period that* Herbert’s regiment hap- 
pened to be quartered at T . Charles had occasionally 

seen his name in his sister’s letters, and heard that there 
was a Herbert now in the barracks, but he was ignorant . 
whether or not it was the same person ; and when he accident- 
ally fell into the society of some of the junior officers, and 
was invited by Herbert himself to dine at the mess, pride pre- 
vented his ascertaining the fact. He did not wish to betray 
that his sister was a governess. Herbert, however, knew full 
well that their visitor was the brother of Emily Lovell, but 
partly for reasons of his own, and partly because he penetrated 
the weakness of the other, he abstained from mentioning 
her name. 

Now, this town of T was, and probably is, about the 

dullest quarter in all England. The officers hated it ; there was 
no flirting, no dancing, no hunting, no any thing. Not a man 
of them knew what to do with himself. The old ones wan- 
dered about and played at whist, the young ones took to hazard 
and three-card loo, playing at first for moderate stakes, but 
soon getting on to high ones. Two or three civilians of the 
neighborhood joined the party, Charles Lovell among the 
rest. Had they begun with playing high, he would have 
been excluded for want of funds ; but whilst they played low, 


T. O A P E D D I C E . 


871 


be won, so that when tliey increased the stakes, trusting to a 
continuance of his good foi’tnne, he was eager to go on with 
them. Neither did his luck altogether desert him ; on the 
whole he rather won than lost : but he foresaw that one bad 
night would break him, and he should be obliged to retire, for- 
feiting his amusement and mortifying his pride. It was jast 
at this crisis, that one night, an accident, which caused him to 
win a considerable sum, set him upon the notion of turning 
chance into certainty. Whilst shuffling the cards he dropped 
the ace of spades into his lap, caught it up, replaced it in the 
pack, and dealt it to himself. No one else had seen the card, 
no observation was made, and a terrible thought came into his 
head ! 

Whether loo or hazard was played, Charles Lovell had, 
night after night, a most extraordinary run of luck. He w^on 
large sums, and saw before him the early prospect of paying 
his debts and clearing all his difficulties. 

Amongst the young men who played at the table, some had 
plenty of money and cared little for their losses ; but others 
w'ere not so well off, and one of these was Edward Herbert 
He, too, was the son of poor parents who had straightened 
themselves to put him in the army, and it was with infinite 
difficulty and privation that his widowed mother liad amassed 
the needful sum to purchase for him a company, which 
was now becoming vacant. The retiring officer’s papers 
W'ere already sent in, and Herbert’s money w'as lodged at 
Cox and Greenwood’s ; but before the answer froiu the Horse 
Guards arrived, he had lost every sixpence. Nearly the 
whole sum had become the property of Charles Lovell. 

Herbert was a fine young man, honorable, generous, impet- 
uous, and endowed with an acute sense of shame. He deter* 


872 


LOADED DICE, 


mined instantly to pay Ids debts, but he kne^.' that his own 
pi'ospects were ruined for life ; he wrote to the agents to set d 
him the mone}' and withdraw his name from the list of p;r- 
chasers. But how was he to support his mother’s grief? 
How meet the eye of the girl he loved ? She, who he knew 
adored him, and whose hand, it was agreed between them, he 
should ask of her parents as soon as he was gazetted a captain ! 
The anguish of mind he suffered threw him into a fever, and 
he lay for several days betwixt life and death, and happily un- 
conscious of its misery. 

Meantime, anotlier scene was being enacted elsewhere. The 
officers, who night after night found themselves losiu's, had 
not for some time entertained the least idea of foul play, but 
at length, one of them observing something suspicious, began 
to watch, and satisfied himself, by a peculiar method adopted 
by Lovell in “ throwing his mains,” that he was the culprit. 
His suspicions were wffiispered from one to another, till they 
nearly all entertained them, with the exception of Herbert, 
who, being looked upon as Lovell’s most especial friend, was not 
told. So unwilling were these young men to blast for ever the 
character of the visitor whom they had so much liked, and to 
strike a fatal blow at the happiness and respectability of his 
family, that they were hesitating how to proceed, whether tc 
openly accuse him or privately reprove and expel him, when 
Herbert’s heavy loss decided the question. 

Herbert himself, overwhelmed with despair, had quitted the 
room, the rest were still seated around the table, when having 
given each other a signal, one of them, called Frank Hous^ 
ton, arose and said: ‘‘ Glentlemen, it gives me great pain to 
have to call your attention to a very strange, a very distress- 
ing circumstance. Foi some time past there has been aa 


L O A I> K D DICK 


373 


extraordinary run of luck in one diivctiun — we have all 
observed it — all remarked on it. ^Ir. Ileibert has at this 
moment retired a heavy loser, 'khere is, indeed, as far as I 
I know, but one winner amongst us ; but one, and he a winner 
to a considerable amount ; the rest are all loseis. God for- 
bid that I should rashly accuse any man ! Lightly blast any 
man’s character ! But I am bound to say, that I fear the 
money we have lost has not been fairly won. There has been 
foul play ! I forbear to name the party — tlie facts sufficiently 
indicate him.” 

Who would not have pitied Lovell, when, livid with horror 
and conscious guilt, he vainly tried to say something ? “ In- 

deed — I assure you — I never” — but words would not 
come ; he faultered and rushed out of the room in a transport 
of agony. They did pity him ; and when he was gone, 
agreed amongst themselves to hush up the affair; but unfortu- 
nately, the civilians of the party, wdio had not been let into the 
secret, took up his defence. They not only believed the ac- 
cusation unfounded, but felt it as an affront offered to their 
townsman ; they blustered about it a good deal, and there was 
nothing left for it but to appoint a committee of investigation, 
Alas! the evidence was overwdielming ! It turned out that 
the dice and cards had been supplied by Lovell. The former, 
still on the table, were found on examination to be loaded. 
In fact, he had had a pair as a curiosity long in his possession, 
and had obtained others from a disreputable character at Ox- 
ford. No doubt remained of his guilt. 

All this while Herbert had been too ill to be addressed on 
the subject ; but symptoms of recovery were now beginning to 
appear ; and as nobody was aware that he had any particular 
interest in the Lovell family, the affair was commnnicated tc 


874 


LOADED DICE. 


him. At first he refused to believe in his friend’s guilt, and 
became violently irritated. His informants assured him they 
would be too happy to find they were mistaken, but that since 
the inquiry no hope of such an issue remained, and he sank 
into a gloomy silence. 

On the following morning, when his servant came to liia * 
room door, he found it locked. When, at the desire of the 
surgeon, it was broken open, Herbert was found a corpse, and 
a discharged pistol lying beside him. An inquest sat upon 
the body, and the verdict brought in was Temporary Insanity. 
There never was one more just. 

Preparations were now made for the funeral — that funeral 
which we had witnessed ; but before the day appointed for it 
arrived, another chapter of this sad story was unfolded. 

When Charles left the barracks on that fatal niglit, instead 
of going liome, he passed the dark hours in wandering wildly 
about the country; but when morning dawned, fearing the eye 
of man, he returned to the vicarage, and slunk unobserved to 
his chamber. When he did not appear at breakfast, his 
mother sought him in his room, where she found him in bed. 

He said he was very ill — and so indeed he was — and 
begged to be left alone ; but as he was no better on the follow- 
ing day, she insisted on sending for medical advice. The doc- 
tor found him with all those physical symptoms that are apt 
to supervene from great anxiety of mind ; and sayirg he could 
get no sleep, Charles requested to have some laudanum ; but 
the physician was on his guard, for although the parties con- 
ceited wished to keep the thing private, some rumors had 
got abroad that awakened his caution. 

The parents, meanwhile, had not the slightest anticipation 
of the thunderbolt that was about to fall u}>on them. They 


LOAD E D DICE. 


375 


lived a very retired life, were acquainted with none of the 
officers, and they were even ignorant of the amount of their 
son’s intimacy with the regiment. Thus, when news of Her- 
bert’s lamentable death reached them, the mother said to her 
son, Charles, did you know a young man in the barracks 
called Herbert ; a lieutenant, I believe ? By the bye, I hope 
it’s not Emily’s Mr. Herbert.” 

“ Did I know him ? ” said Charles, turning suddenly 
towards her, for, under pretence that the light annoyed him, 
he always lay with his face to the wall. “ Why do you ask, 
mother ? ” 

“ Because he’s dead. He had a fever and ” 

“ Herbert dead ! ” cried Charles, suddenly sitting up in the 

bed. 

“ Yes, he had a fever, and it is supposed he was delirious, 
for he blew out his brains ; there is a report that he had been 
playing high, and lost a great deal of money. What’s the 
matter dear ? O, Charles, I shouldn’t have told you ! I was 
not aware that you knew him ? ” 

“ Fetch my father here, and mother, you come back 
with hkn ! ” said Charles, speaking with a strange sternness 
of tone, and wildly motioning her out of the room. 

When the parents came, he bade them sit down beside 
him ; and then, with a degree of remorse and anguish that no 
words could portray, he told them all; whilst they, with 
blanched cheeks and fainting hearts, listened to the dire Con- 
fession. 

“ And here I am,” he exclaimed, as he ended, “ a cowardly 
fcoundrel, that has not dared to die ! O Herbert 1 happy, 
happy Herbert ! Would I were with you !” 

At that moment the door opened, and a beautiful, bright. 


376 


LOADED DICK. 


smiling, joyous face peeped in. It was Emily Lovell, the 
beloved daughter, the adored sister, arrived from London in 
compliance with a letter received a few days previously 
from Herbert, wherein he had told her that by the time she 
received it, he would be a captain. She had come to intro- 
duce him to her parents as her affianced husband. She feared 
no refusal ; well she knew how rejoiced they would be to see 
her the wife of so kind and honorable a man. But they 
were ignorant of all this, and in the fulness of their agony, 
the cup of woe ran over, and she drank of the draught. 
They told her all before she had been five minutes in the 
room. How else could they account for their tears, their con- 
fusion, their bewilderment, their despair ? 

Before Herbert’s funeral took place, Emily Lovell was ly- 
ing betwixt life and death in a brain fever. Under the influ- 
ence of a feeling easily to be comprehended, thirsting for a 
self-imposed torture, that by its very poignancy should relieve 
the dead weight of wretchedness that lay upon his breast, 
Charles crept from his bed, and slipping on a loose coat that 
hung in his room, he stole across the garden to the tower, 
whence, through the arrow slit, he witnessed the buri^ of his 
sister’s lover, whom he had hastened to the grave. 

Here terminates our sad story. We left T on the 

following morning, and it was two or three years before 
any farther intelligence of the Lovell family reached us. All 
we then heard was, that Charles had gone, a self-condemned 
exile, to Australia ; and that Emily had insisted on accom- 
panying him thither 


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